


Twist or Stick

by PenguinofProse



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: A different S5, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 65,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22577074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: Bellamy makes an impulsive decision part way through S4, because impulsive decisions are what he does best, and changes the course of history. Other relationships will appear but are not currently tagged to avoid spoilers.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 83
Kudos: 229
Collections: The 100 Fix-Its and Rewrites





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Stormkpr for betaing!

Prologue: Before Praimfaiya

_ It's the stupidest thing, but it's a twisted ankle that makes the difference. A twisted ankle and a twist of fate. _

_ Well, the twist of fate comes first, really. _

…...

The sun is shining, as it will not shine much longer, glittering on the water, glancing off her hair. He sort of wants to tell her she looks beautiful, but the world is ending, so he's not sure it's quite the right moment for that.

"What will you do now, Bellamy?" Her voice, pitched low and gentle, washes over him. "Will you go back to Arkadia, or look for your sister?"

He was going to, actually. He was going to do those things. But somehow, standing here, watching her watching the ocean, he cannot turn away from her now.

"I want to stick with you, Clarke. I know we don't need another guard on the island but – if I leave now, I'm worried I might not see you again."

She doesn't answer that in words, at least not right away. She simply closes the space between them, leans into his warmth a little. And he looks down at her, at the half smile playing about her lips despite the oncoming end of the Earth, and tells himself that he has made the right choice, that he will stick by her side until the end.

She has just opened her mouth, just inhaled to speak, to say, he hopes, that she is glad of his presence, when Roan's shout has her running to the truck to despair over the lost hydrazine.

He doesn't know it, yet, but he has just changed the world.

…...

He's pleased with his decision in the days that follow. Sticking by Clarke's side was the right thing to do, of course, in as much as he couldn't bear to be separated from her in the face of this particular oncoming storm, but it turns out that it's the right choice on a rather more logical level, too.

They might not need another guard here, but they sure as hell need Bellamy Blake.

He's rarely felt so necessary, so  _ purposeful _ , in his twenty-three years of life, as he does now, while all those around him struggle with moral dilemma after moral dilemma, and as Clarke bears almost literally the weight of the world on her shoulders. He can't do anything much to help with making the nightblood, of course. He's a soldier who happens to be rather overqualified in the field of history, not a biochemist. But it seems that what the other occupants of this lab need, just now, is not help with making nightblood, but with keeping themselves and each other sane.

She comes to his room that night, but it is not how he dreamed it. She does not slip out of her nightclothes and tell him that she wants him to set her aflame before the world burns, does not glide a provocative index finger confidently down the length of his cheek.

She sits, instead, heavily and hopelessly, on the edge of his bed, and tells him that she doesn't know what to do.

"We need to test the nightblood. We have to. But there's no good way of doing that, is there, Bellamy?"

She pauses for a moment, gathers her wits, twists her fingers in the satin of the nightdress that is, it seems, staying very firmly in place.

"We need to test it on a person. And there's no good way of choosing that person."

"Clarke." He shuffles close to her side, wraps an arm about her. Ignores, very carefully, the contact with her skin, and the beauty of her body in this tantalisingly civilian garment. "You're right. There's no good choice. But think of all the people this could save."

"If it works."

"Yeah." He can't argue with that. "I know that you'll make the best choice, Clarke. Even if it's a difficult one. You always do."

…...

He was wrong. He was so, utterly, totally, heartbreakingly wrong, and it makes him hurt to see it.

She hasn't made the best choice. She has made the worst one. The worst possible choice.

He suspects no one else has seen it, suspects, too, that no one else knows her well enough to understand even if they  _ had _ seen it. But he can see Abby's hand shaking as she goes to inject Emori. Can see Clarke taking the needle from her, and raising it towards her own arm.

He doesn't think. He doesn't have to think. He already knows, on some deep and unconscious level, that he cannot let her go through with this choice. That he cannot let her inject herself, cannot let Clarke Griffin be the human subject of this most unfair of trials.

She's strong, in so many ways, but on the physical front she's no match for him. It is the work of a heartbeat to twist the syringe from her grasp, to turn away from her and stick it in his own arm.

It will be the work of a lifetime to forget her roar of anger and of pain, to forget the crazed look in her eye as she smashes the radiation chamber to pieces. It will be the work of an eternity, he suspects, to forget the rage with which Murphy screams at both of them that he will never forgive them for this, for trying to put him and Emori through what they could, evidently, not go through themselves.

But he can cope with those things, and gladly so, if it means that she's still by his side.

…...

She doesn't forgive him, but she does understand. She understands, she tells him, because she knows now how he felt, watching her offer herself up for that fate, from her own experience of watching him and then falling apart far enough to smash up that radiation chamber. She is supposed to be the rational one, for goodness' sake, yet the events of that day were enough to send even her far beyond the reach of reason. So there was no hope, then, that he could have endured that situation without some kind of emotional overreaction.

Some kind of emotional overreaction like, for example, injecting himself instead.

The experience builds some kind of bond between them – not that they weren't already stuck together like glue – but it has made all too plain what was, previously, unseen and unspoken. That somehow, somewhere along the line, they have reached a place where they would willingly give their lives for one another.

Of course, with so much firmly established, Clarke then finds herself trying to decide between his life or the lives of the entire human race.

He knows that's how she's seeing it, as he stands atop this ladder en route to admitting his sister, knows that's the question she's asking herself, with her  _ saving humanity  _ hat on. But she doesn't seem to be finding her day job quite so easy, just now, he notes, as he watches her hand shake and sees her raise the gun reluctantly.

She won't shoot him. He knows it. He knows it about as well as he knows his own  _ name _ .

"You'll have to make it a kill shot." He tells her, looking her right in the eyes. "That's the only way you're going to stop me."

She shakes her head, once, weakly, almost pathetically. She lowers the gun, turns away from him, and he can hear her trying to apologise past the sob stuck in her throat.

He needs to let his sister in, of course. And then he needs to extract a promise that Clarke will not be condemned for this, and then they need to get on with saving the human race.

But somehow, all of a sudden, quite before he has had the chance to decide whether he wishes to do so, he has crossed that cold concrete floor and enfolded Clarke in his arms. And she's crying, hard, and he's cradling her precious head to his chest and he knows, of course he does, that they haven't the time for this.

But how can he leave her now?

"I'm sorry." She hiccups eventually, tries to pull away, but he's not having that. She's not ready to face the world just yet, he can tell. "I just – I couldn't. Too many people I loved are dead because of me. I couldn't let it happen again."

His breath hitches at that, but not in a sob. In a gasp of disbelief that she should choose this moment, of all moments, to unleash the topic of love. But there are, of course, things to do, sisters to rescue, a world ending.

"I know. I couldn't have shot you either." He tells her, stroking her hair.

There is a pause. A second. A couple of muffled sobs.

"For the same reason." He murmurs, and then he gives in to his cowardice, and runs away to open the door.

…...

They don't talk about that moment, about those precious words that passed between them. They talk about boring things, logistics, how to get to the island. How to rescue Raven, how to get home in time. She tries to apologise once more, but he's not having it. The time he has left with her might well be too short, he suspects, to waste it on apologies.

He asks her instead about her childhood, as he tries to navigate this twists and turns of the track, bathed in the glowing orange of the oncoming death wave.

She looks at him, brow cocked, as if to ask why the hell he is interested in such trivialities at a time like this. But she does not argue, simply starts to tell him tales of Jake Griffin, and of centuries old football matches played out on a big screen, and he relaxes into the road ahead and the rhythm of her words.

He relaxes so much, he hits a tree.

It quickly becomes clear that the fault was not his, as a small army springs from the forest around them. It is a blur, all flying dust and spraying snow, eerily backlit by that distant fire, but he makes out enough to be afraid. Countless bodies, converging on them. Murphy and Emori surviving, as they do best.

Clarke taking a heavy fall, screaming as she goes down.

And then Echo rides to their rescue, thank goodness, and he wonders how it is that this frosty traitor is always showing up to save him when he needs it the most. He is so busy sagging with relief, and checking that everyone's suits are intact, that he almost does not notice that Clarke is still sprawled on the ground.

"You OK?" He asks her, confused to say the least. She's obviously conscious, but she's not getting up.

"Yeah. Except that – I hurt my ankle when I fell."

He kneels at her side, not sure what use any help of his could possibly be to this woman who is virtually a doctor.

"Is it broken?" He asks, cursing their luck. This day was going badly enough before she got injured.

"I don't think so." She flexes it experimentally. "Just twisted."

"Well, it's a good job we're stuck sitting here until Monty and Harper show up."

"Yeah." The ghost of a smile plays about her lips. "Yeah, it is."

…...

As it turns out, a twisted ankle does not prevent her from sitting in the front seat of the rover when it arrives and chatting to him about everything and nothing. It does not prevent her, either, from conceiving the plan that will save them all, and making a start on working out how they will get to space. Nor does it prevent her from sitting by Raven's side to work out the arrangements for water, or food supplies, of just about anything at all.

It will prevent her, though, from running to the satellite tower. On this point, his mind is made up.

"I'll go." She is, of course, the first to volunteer when Raven tells them that someone needs to run this riskiest of errands.

He would laugh, if it weren't so serious. She must realise, as she hops awkwardly to her feet, that there is no way she is hiking through the snow with a time limit.

"No." He insists, firmly, twisting the kit out of Raven's hands, much as he wrenched that syringe from Clarke those few short days ago. "You can't, not with that ankle. I'll go."

He turns away, is three paces into the journey towards the stairs when he hears her voice.

"Bellamy, no! Please!"

He wheels back around to face her, aware that he's looking at her like she's lost her mind.

"Clarke. You can't walk. I'm going, and that's final."

" _ Please _ ." The tears are coursing down her cheeks, her whole body shaking as she limps pitifully towards him. "Please. I want to stick with you. If you leave now, I'm worried that I might not see you again."

She throws her arms around his neck, sagging into him as her injured ankle gives out, and he does not hesitate to hug her right back. It is not a long embrace, though, because he has things to do, and people he loves to keep alive.

He loosens his arms, and before he can think better of it, he presses a rather abrupt kiss to her mouth. And he can see it, as he pulls away, can see in the look in her eyes that she understands exactly what that kiss means. That she'll stick around and wait for him to get back, no matter what the end of the world may throw at her.

"May we meet again." She murmurs, clinging to his hand until the last possible moment as he turns to leave.

"We  _ will _ meet again."


	2. Chapter one

Five years later

Fatherhood suits Bellamy. This is surely no great surprise, after a youth spent raising his sister, and watching over one hundred confused teenagers, but he takes pride in it all the same, and tries not to imagine too hard that he's just practising for a peaceful post-Praimfaiya future where he might raise children with Clarke. The highlight of his life, these days, is telling Madi stories about his friends in the sky, and teaching her how to read and write, and how to survive in the forest.

The other highlight, of course, of each and every day, is his regular radio call to Clarke.

He doesn't know why he still bothers with them, really. She's obviously not answering. But it's a hard habit to break, the habit of sharing his every thought and feeling with the woman he still loves, somehow, despite these years apart. Despite the fact that she did not stick around to wait for him when the world burned.

He loves her even  _ more _ for that, he likes to think. For saving herself when he knows she must have found it incredibly difficult to do so. That self-sacrificing instinct of hers was ever strong, and he can't imagine what it has done to her, to live with the weight of letting him make the sacrifice for a change. But as long as she's alive, then it was the right thing to do.

He hopes she's alive.

If she is alive, she should be home today. And the rest of their friends, too, of course, but he has to admit that he's not quite so hung up on them. He just cannot wait, after all these years in which he simply had to wait, to see the look on Clarke's face when she touches the Earth. Cannot wait, either, for the softness of her mouth as she touches her lips to his. That had better be a feature of their reunion, he thinks with a grin. He did not sit here and dream of her for all these lonely months for nothing.

Of course, he's also excited beyond belief at the prospect of introducing her to Madi. He is utterly convinced that she will be overjoyed to learn that he has managed to adopt them a child while she's been gone. They never talked about having a family – there wasn't time, really, as the world was ending and all – and she may not be the most stereotypically maternal woman in the universe but he's sure she'll make a great mother.

That doesn't make him delusional, he promises himself, struck by a moment of doubt as he looks at that silent radio. He's not kidding himself, here, in thinking that she might be interested in raising a kid with him. She loves him. He heard her imply it herself.

He didn't hear her  _ say  _ it, though. Not quite.

He brushes that thought away, firmly. He is never going to survive down here if he allows himself to start doubting Clarke, if he allows his love for her to become some twisted thing that makes him question his own sanity. He therefore picks up a spear and invites Madi to join him on a fishing expedition.

“We need to catch plenty today, for when my friends get here.” He reminds her, unable to keep the smile off his face at the thought.

“How do you know they're coming back today?” Madi asks, all curiosity.

“Because today is the day for them to come home.” He tells her simply. “And whenever Clarke has to leave, she always comes home.”

That is a good enough explanation for Madi, it seems, and they spend a couple of hours catching a good haul of fish. And then he spends a while at their vegetable plot, harvesting anything and everything that looks good to eat. And then he cooks it all up, a veritable feast, just as the shadows are starting to lengthen and he is starting to wonder at what time, exactly, they might be intending to return. Because if they are intending to land today – well, then. There's not very much of  _ today _ left.

But they'll be here soon, of course. They're arriving today.

The sun is smudging against the horizon when Madi asks the question that breaks his heart.

“Are you sure they're coming back today?”

He doesn't reply, and she reads the answer in his silence.

“I might go to bed, Bellamy. Wake me up if – when – they get here?”

He nods, once. Fixes his eyes on the sky, and waits for Clarke to come back to him.

She doesn't come back, and he feels stupid. He feels like the biggest idiot in the world – this world of two he is stuck in – for being so sure that she would return today, and being so cruelly disappointed. And it is beyond foolish, he notes, to have wasted all this precious food on a feast with no one here to share it. For goodness' sake, even his eleven-year-old daughter realised he was being naive.

He chooses not to acknowledge that this evening presents the first clue that theirs will not be such a simple happily-ever-after. And so the loneliness stretches on, and he has only a small child's company, and the memory of that one desperate kiss with Clarke, to keep him sane.

…....

He clings to sanity for a little while, after that, feels it sticking beneath his fingernails as it tries to slide out of his hands. He hopes, desperately, for those first couple of days and weeks after the five year mark. Hopes that they just calculated the days differently, perhaps, or that there is some minor delay.

But, little by little, he feels that sanity start to slip away from him. He relies ever more on that piece-of-crap radio, on monologues delivered to no-one but addressed to Clarke. He cries more, which is stupid, because he's a grown man with a child to protect but – but sometimes he starts to fear that, perhaps, they are on their own forever, now.

Madi is the only reason he keeps functioning. She needs to be fed, and needs to have clean clothes and a roof over her head. She needs intelligent conversation, too, and reading lessons and some training in Earth Skills. He remembers such things from raising Octavia. And he realises, eventually, that  _ he _ needs their lessons, as well, and needs the routine of caring for a child. It keeps him grounded, keeps him in touch with life.

He thinks he might tell Clarke some of this, today, over a year since she could have returned. Not that she'll care, obviously, as she's a figment of his imagination or something. Or at the very least a figure from his past, dead, and gone, and never coming back for him -

No. He can't think like that. He's in a melancholy mood, today, it seems, but it's time for his radio call all the same. He sets up the dish, presses the call button. Says a few sentences about how much he misses her, and tries very hard not to weep.

Yes. This is one of his bad days.

He struggles on for a few more moments, chastising her for being so slow to get back to him. Haranguing her for the delay, against his better judgement. Tries to convince himself to just set the radio down, and call again when he's in a better frame of mind.

That's when he sees the ship.

…....

Bellamy twists his hands, tugs at his wrists, trying vainly to find some way out of these restraints. He knew these new arrivals would be trouble, as soon as he saw that damn prisoner transport appear, but he hadn't realised they would be quite  _ this _ much trouble. It's been a while, he concedes, since he found himself bound to a chair and with his life in danger. And having a child to protect from these intruders, too – that's a new experience, and one he's really not at all happy about.

The woman who appears to be their leader enters the room, no doubt to have another go at breaking him. She can try all she likes, he thinks, with her difficult questions and her threats of torture. Physical pain doesn't bother him, much, after all these years on the ground. As long as these invaders keep their hands off his foster daughter, he thinks he can probably cope with anything.

That, of course, is why they decide to break out the shock collar.

He hates it even before they run a charge through it, as he turns his neck this way and that and feels the weight of it, feels it constricting him, sticking to his clammy skin. He hates most of all the strangeness of it, the frightening unknown. Hates that he doesn't know what might happen to him when they unleash that shock, doesn't know whether he might weep, or soil himself, or lose his mind.

He thinks he  _ has _ lost his mind, when he first sees it. He's lying curled at the foot of the church steps, head in the dust, groaning from the latest charge still jolting through his body, when he sees the rover approach, and sees an all-too-familiar figure step out of the passenger side door. Temporary insanity is, he feels, the only logical explanation. He can see no other reason why he is so convinced that this woman standing before him, silhouetted against the headlights of the rover, hair glowing gold like some kind of demented avenging angel, looks like Clarke Griffin.

Then she starts speaking, and he realises that he has not lost anything. Rather, it seems, something has been very much  _ found _ .

Because this  _ is _ Clarke, and she is here to save him, armed, as always, with a cunning and deceptively simple plan, a decisive tone, and a hint of reckless overconfidence. She is armed, too, with a mug, and as she draws closer he can just about make out the words  _ best dad in the universe  _ written on the side of it. And that strikes him as a bit odd, really, because surely it is obvious that she will be the best  _ mum _ in the universe, just as soon as she meets Madi.

She must already have met Madi, he realises abruptly, as the negotiations proceed over his not-dead body and he finds himself a little embarrassed that he is lying here so pathetically. She must already have met Madi, otherwise she would have no way of knowing she needed to come look for him here. But in his defence, he thinks it's probably understandable that he's a bit slow on the uptake just now. It's not every day that he finds himself wearing a shock collar while he takes in the reappearance of the love of his life after 2199 days apart.

…....

The negotiations take a while, and at some point he is carted back inside while Clarke speaks to Diyoza alone, and he is not even given the chance to say goodbye. Or hello. Or anything at all, really. Six years apart and it seems that their reunion will have to wait a little longer.

They've removed the collar, so that's something. He lies quietly on the bench in his makeshift cell, and wonders what he should say to Clarke when he sees her again. 2199 days, and it occurs to him that he's never previously thought about what his first words ought to be. He should start with saying something about her leaving him, he supposes, some reassurance that she did the right thing, that he loves her even more for saving herself, and that he's overjoyed that she made it. And maybe he ought to explain how he survived, too, the nightblood and Eden, and he figures he ought to point out that he's adopted them a child, as well -

There is a knock at the door, and Clarke appears.

“Hey.” She stops a little too near the door for his liking, does not come forward for that long-awaited hug. “You doing OK?”

“Yeah. Thanks for coming to my rescue.” He tries to make a joke of it, as he gets to his feet and closes the gap between them. He doesn't initiate that embrace, though. He cannot, somehow, while she's still staying in the doorway.

“Any time.” She mutters.

He stands there, hovering awkwardly, not quite sure what to do with his limbs. He sort of wants to kiss her, to pick up where they left off six years ago, but something about the funny look she's giving him makes him hesitate. Maybe he looks older, he wonders. Maybe she objects to his new haircut – or lack thereof. In his defence, he wasn't expecting to see her this evening. Or even this week.

If he's being honest, he was beginning to wonder whether he'd see her this  _ lifetime _ .

“It's good to see you.” He tells her, in the end, for want of anything more useful to do.

_ It's good to see you _ . As if that's how you greet the woman you love after six years apart, he curses himself. Those are surely words more appropriate to a passing acquaintance at a moonshine-fuelled party.

“You too.” She tells him, eyes beginning to look slightly damp as, finally, at last, she pulls him in for that overdue hug. “I can't believe you made it.”

“Your mum knew what she was doing with that nightblood.” He murmurs, holding her tight, hand curled around that plait that snakes down her back as it did six years ago, tendrils of hair escaping to tickle against his cheek.

“Yeah.” She pulls away from his embrace, shakes her head a little. “Come on. We should get back to the rover and get out of here before they change their minds.”

They talk plenty on their way back to the rover, questions about how he survived, and how he found Madi, and suchlike, but it's not quite what he was expecting six years and seven days after that kiss, if he's being honest. It's a bit lacking in exclamations of  _ oh my God _ and declarations of love for his liking.

He can just pick out the dark outline of the rover through the trees when Clarke turns to him, frowning hard.

“Bellamy, there's something you should -”

Of course, at that precise moment, Madi flies out of the treeline and into his arms, interrupting whatever was so important with a vehement hug.

“I knew you'd be OK, Bellamy.” His daughter exults cheerfully. “I knew it just as soon as Clarke got here.”

“Yeah. I'm all good.”

They have taken the last few steps towards the rover, now, and people are spilling out of the doors. Murphy and Emori are standing some way apart from each other, carefully avoiding eye contact, and that surprises him, but he pulls Murphy in for a hug all the same. Echo nods respectfully at him, mouth pressed into what he supposes is meant as a smile. And then Raven is lurching towards them, and -

And Raven is kissing Clarke.

And he doesn't mean a friendly peck on the cheek, oh no, Raven is kissing Clarke in a rather  _ full-on _ sort of a way, the prolonged and undeniably un-platonic kind of kissing he has only ever dreamed of attempting to interest her in, the type that involves lips and tongues and hands and – and makes him feel a bit nauseous, really.

He thinks that, maybe, he knows what Clarke was about to tell him, now.

He understands it, of course. He can quite understand why a woman who once loved Lexa might find Raven to be exactly the kind of person she wants to kiss, with her fierce courage and strong will, and he can certainly understand that he's been separated from them for quite a long while. And that they thought he was dead, that too.

In fact, the more he thinks about it, the more he realises he should have expected something like this. He's no blushing virgin, but he's embarrassed now at the thought of quite how pathetic he must be, to have thought that one little kiss in a moment when emotions were running high should count for anything. Obviously she's moved on, if ever she was seriously interested at all. It's what people do, and he shouldn't have been taken by surprise.

He greets Raven with a quick hug, when that interminable kiss is over, hoping she doesn't read anything amiss in his face. Asks after Monty and Harper, and is relieved to hear that they are well, but are on the Eligius ship to hold the hostages. And then he leads the way to the rover, and jumps into the driver's seat. And Madi gets into the passenger side, as usual, and his friends hop into the back.

And then he sets about driving away from this place, and away from the memory of all that happened here. Away from the memory of cold metal sticking to his flesh, and away from the memory of Clarke and Raven stuck together at the lips.

“There's not much space back here.” Murphy grouses loudly, as he tries noisily to arrange himself amongst their possessions.

“We weren't expecting company.” Bellamy bites back, fuse shorter even than usual.

“What the hell's this?” He sneaks a look in the rear-view mirror, realises that the item in question is the precious radio dish he has been using to speak to Clarke for the last six years.

“Nothing important.” He says dismissively. “Just a radio dish. Toss it out the back if we've no space.”

It's a good job he's driving, Bellamy thinks sourly. Because if he were anywhere near that piece of junk just now – well, then. He thinks he'd probably kick it into next century.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! No hate, please, for the Clarke and Raven relationship - I promise I'm going to have them work this out in a satisfactory and sensitive way. In the meantime, get in touch if you have any requests for Bellarke Valentine's fluff!


	3. Chapter two

"We need to make a plan." Clarke informs Bellamy from the back of the rover as he concentrates on driving into the darkness.

Obviously they need to make a plan. And obviously she would not be Clarke if she did not point this out within moments of their long-awaited reunion.

"Can't it wait?" He snaps, frustration at the shredding of his hopes making him sharp. "I've just spent a day being tortured with that damn shock collar and now I'm trying to drive a rover in the dark. Do you think we could maybe make a plan when we stop moving?"

"When will that be?" She asks, still infuriatingly eager to get on with saving the world. "Where are we going?"

"There's a cave not far from here. We'll be well hidden, and there are a few supplies there."

She doesn't respond to that, and a gentle hum of nervous chatter starts to fill the back of the rover again.

"What's wrong?" Madi whispers to him, under the cover of Murphy's inappropriately jovial laugh. "Why are you arguing with Clarke?"

"I'm not arguing with Clarke. She's arguing with me."

OK, then. Apparently he becomes rather petty when disappointed in love.

They mercifully arrive at the cave not long after that, and everyone hops out. Madi distributes some of their food, and Echo and Emori have the presence of mind to start a fire.

Bellamy just stands at the entrance to the cave, mouth twisted into a grim frown. He knows he needs to go on in, needs to eat some long-overdue supper. Needs to sit down, apart from anything else, because the hour is growing late and he's had a pretty full-on kind of a day. But somehow he cannot quite bring himself to take that step.

If he does he fears that it might make all this more real.

"Stop standing around, Blake." Raven calls to him from her seat by the fire. He decides in this moment that, old friend or not, he has never hated the woman more.

And if he's not careful it's going to burst out of him, he can feel it, his anger is going to boil over and he's going to say something really stupid, he's going to show them all that he's still pathetically stuck on Clarke, even after all these years.

Even after she's moved on from him.

"Come and sit down." A gentle voice catches his attention. Clarke has popped up next to his shoulder, somehow, and in the dim light of the fire she looks almost concerned. "Come on. Your neck must be killing you. I'll make you a salve for it -"

"I don't need a salve." He bites out angrily.

He doesn't need a salve, however much the wounds on his neck are burning. What he needs is a kiss, but he can't tell her that, of course. He sighs deeply, and tries again.

"Thank you." He will have to practise being polite to her, however hurt he might be. Will have to practise looking like a man who uses his head like she asked him to, and has not been driven to the brink of control by heartbreak. "Let's make this plan."

It doesn't take them long to get the basics established. Clarke has arranged for herself and anyone who joins her to get a flight to the bunker with Eligius at dawn tomorrow. And then Diyoza and her men will open it up, and then their friends and relatives will be freed.

He could almost laugh, if he weren't so utterly devastated by recent events. Of course Clarke has already made a plan, with herself at the heart of it, and with the newcomers manipulated into bowing to her every demand. She's even negotiated that they'll give her a _lift_ , for crying out loud.

"I'm coming with you." He informs her, almost before she has finished speaking.

"No you're not." She frowns. "You need to let those burns around your neck heal. And you've got Madi here to look after. And there's no point, anyway, we'll be sharing the valley with Eligius so everyone from the bunker will be here before you know it. You won't have to wait long to see your sister."

"I'm still coming with you." He insists. "I want to see O as soon as they get her out of there. And someone needs to come with you and make sure Diyoza sticks to the terms. You might need me to look out for you if anything goes wrong."

He stares at the fire, hard, and hopes that his tone has not given too much away.

"I don't like it." Clarke tells him.

Good for her. He doesn't like any of this. Has he mentioned that?

"We can stay here." Murphy suggests. "Guerrilla tactics and the enemy occupying the village? Sounds like a job for me and Emori."

That breaks the tension a little, and there are a few chuckles. Even Emori herself gives a grudging laugh, and makes passing eye contact with Murphy in a way that Bellamy cannot quite make sense of.

"I'll stay with Murphy and Emori, then." Madi decides.

Bellamy immediately feels guilty at that, and rather ashamed that he has let his devastation over the state of Clarke's heart distract him from his daughter's wellbeing. He needs to protect Madi too, of course he does, needs somehow to find a way to protect both of them.

"Maybe you should come with us?"

"Don't be stupid." His daughter reprimands him smartly. "You need to go. I get it, Bellamy, really I do. I'll be safe here with the Cockroach and the Survivor."

"The Cockroach and the Survivor?" Murphy echoes with a smirk.

Emori just looks sad.

"I told stories about you." Bellamy mumbles, looking out into the darkness. "I told stories about all of you."

"We told stories about you, too." Clarke whispers, so quietly he has to strain to hear her. It's not a tone of voice he has ever associated with her before, really, and it sort of makes him want to cry.

"You did?"

"Yeah. All the damn time. Even though it hurt to say your name. But we'd just be eating our algae and then suddenly someone would say something that reminded me of you and then – then -"

Suddenly, she is on her feet, and she is running out into the night. And he jumps up, too, takes two steps before a voice from the fireside stops him.

"Don't, Bellamy." It is Raven, of course, pulling herself laboriously upright. "I'll go. I know what she wants to hear right now."

Yes. He rather imagines that she does.

…...

Bellamy tries not to fret about Clarke's sudden departure, but it is a vain attempt. He does not remember Clarke as the running-away-into-the-night type. He remembers her being rather more rational, rather more in control. And he remembers that overreacting was his job.

In place of fretting, therefore, he lies by the fire and fails to sleep. And by the time Clarke and Raven return, everyone else is snoring, so Bellamy rather supposes that he ought to pretend he is asleep, too.

He's not, though. How could he be? Who could possibly sleep, after all that has happened to him today?

It is simply too much to process. He knows that he ought to be over the moon, ought to be beyond grateful that she has survived at all, no matter the circumstances, no matter the shift in the relationship between them. No matter the fact that she did not stick around and wait for him when the world burned. He always tried to love her even more for doing that. He remembers thinking about it only this morning. But he can't quite manage it now, and he's not sure why. Somehow, suddenly, it is getting to him. A tiny fragment of his heart that he never noticed before does not love her for saving herself. No, that tiny fragment hates her, instead, for leaving him.

She always leaves. He's noticed that before, of course, that it is her fate always to be the one who goes, and he is to be the one who sticks around. And before, he has always forgiven her for that, has always understood that leaving was what she needed to do, even if it took him a while to find his peace with it. But in this very moment, for the first time in almost seven years, he truly hates her for it.

He hates her even more when silence falls and he dares to look over to the other side of the fire, allows himself to take in the sight of her and Raven curled together in sleep. They look so sickeningly peaceful that it hurts. She was supposed to find her peace with _him_ , damn it. He was supposed to be her happily ever after when all this was through.

He admits defeat, for now at least, and sits up. There's no point lying on this cold dirt floor with a crick in his neck if he's not even getting any rest out of it. He grabs some spare twine out of his pocket, starts twisting it into snares. They don't need snares right now, of course, but a snare is always a useful thing to have handy on the ground. And these friends of his are sadly out of practice at living on the ground, now, so someone had better be prepared.

That's what he tells himself, but he knows it's a lie. His hands just need to tie something together or his mind will fall apart.

He notices as soon as Murphy wakes up, naturally. Years on the ground have left his senses sharp. He is sadly out of practice at human interaction, though, so he is surprised when his former nemesis and occasional friend starts to whisper into the darkness.

"She cried over you for years, you know. She still does, sometimes. That's what that was tonight. You didn't do anything wrong."

He grunts a little. He thinks he might have forgotten how to speak to adults.

"Raven helped her through it. She's been good for her."

"Shut up, Murphy."

He lies down again, turns his back in a clear invitation to his conversational partner to piss off. Crick in his neck or no, he is not interested in pursuing that particular topic any further.

At least when they get his sister out of that bunker, he hopes he might be very slightly less lonely amongst all these damn people.

…...

The morning sun is just starting to streak the sky when Raven pulls up the rover and begins to say an upsettingly fond farewell to Clarke. Bellamy opens the door and hops out, stalks a little way into the forest. Punches a tree trunk, hard, and relishes the pain blossoming in his knuckles.

He takes a deep breath, and punches it again for good measure.

He hears noise behind him, then, and realises that Clarke has left the rover and started towards him. The drop off point is scarcely three minutes' walk from the Eligius transport ship, so they get going and Raven turns the rover and drives it back into the trees.

"You OK?" He asks Clarke as they start to walk. "Raven could have come with us, if you wanted, you know."

"No she couldn't." Clarke snaps. "It might be dangerous and she can't run. You could have stayed behind with Madi, though."

"No I couldn't." He echoes. "I always stick with you, remember?"

She doesn't remember. Or, at least, she doesn't _say_ she remembers, and he can't read her so well now as he could six years ago. He focuses carefully on the ache of his bruised hand as he gathers his thoughts.

"Anyway, she'll be safe with the others." He concludes. She will, he knows it, be much safer there than on this misadventure. His friends assure him that Echo is firmly loyal to them, now, and he thinks he probably couldn't find a better bodyguard for his foster daughter.

"I'm glad you decided to join me." She murmurs, surprising him. "You're the right person to come with me."

He's not sure what he's supposed to make of that, of the words that sound surprisingly like a declaration of friendship after the burning hot hatred he found himself feeling in the early hours of this morning, but it doesn't seem to matter. As if sensing the confusion and minor turmoil her remark has caused, Clarke moves on, babbling at great speed about exactly what she negotiated with Diyoza yesterday, about the fact that Monty and Harper are perfectly safe in space and know to pull the plug on the prisoners if anything goes wrong.

That they've been told he's alive, and they send their love.

He almost punches another tree at that. He should damn well hope that they send their love, but it hurts that it doesn't seem to have occurred to her that he might like to actually _speak_ to the pair of them himself.

Then again, there are quite a lot of other things that don't seem to have occurred to her, either.

He pushes that thought aside, pushes aside, too, the observation that the weak early morning light looks beautiful shining on her hair. He should have learnt, by now, that nothing good ever comes from such observations. The last time he paused to notice her hair catching the light, he seems to remember he ended up staying on that island and injecting himself with nightblood, and look where that got him.

It got him here, with a prisoner transport ship looming above him, and a woman he used to love standing a polite eight inches away from his side.


	4. Chapter three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to those of you who left encouraging reviews on the last chapter! Thank you, too, to Stormkpr for being such a supportive beta. There's a bit more cause for optimism ahead, and the first few signs of our fave couple finding their way back to each other. Happy reading!

Bellamy doesn't know how they intend to open the bunker. Of course he doesn't. If Clarke can't manage to tell him she's got a new lover, now, she sure as hell isn't about to tell him anything useful about the plan. He sits, silent and watchful, and gazes out of the window of the transport ship at the desert blurring into burnished gold beneath them.

"I can't believe you survived down there. It's a wasteland." Clarke nods at the emptiness, voice full of confused wonder.

"I wasn't in the wasteland, was I?" He asks her, tone sharp. "I'm not a complete idiot. And someone told me to try using my head, so I thought _maybe I'll go live in the green valley_ _rather than in the middle of a damn desert_."

She sighs a little, and he's not sure whether she's upset or annoyed. He misses being able to tell. Well, he misses a lot of things, doesn't he? No point dwelling on that.

She tries again. She's nothing if not persistent, he remembers that much. "I'm pleased you had Madi, too. I'm pleased you weren't all alone."

"Yeah." That is a sentiment he can agree with. "She was the best thing about those years. Looking after her kept me going when I was – when I was having one of my bad days."

"I'm sorry there were bad days. I can't imagine -"

Of course, just when they are starting to get somewhere, and he is allowing his mind to fly to the idea that perhaps they might yet be able to salvage that happy ending, they touch back down to Earth with a bump.

No one _ever_ bothers telling him how they intend to open the bunker, as it happens. But, yeah, he's been practising using his head, so he follows the basic sequence of events well enough from his improvised seat at the edge of the action. A lot of explosions to break up the rubble over the place where the door used to be. Heavy lifting equipment to clear the debris.

And then the door is revealed. That damn door he had to open so many years ago. That door that, if he squints hard enough, he can almost blame for the beginning of the end between him and Clarke.

If it weren't for that door he wouldn't have spent six pathetic years thinking she loved him.

"Come on." Clarke is standing next to him, reaching out a hand towards his shoulder.

Then, apparently, she thinks better of it, and withdraws back to that polite arm's length.

"Are we ready to go?" He asks. He's supposed to wait for her to make the decisions, he seems to remember. That's how it works when things are – well – working between them.

"Yeah. You should go first. Your sister will want to see you."

He returns the ghost of a smile that accompanies her words and gets to his feet. It's a bit weird, really, the way that the Eligius folk are all standing around and waiting for him. It feels almost like old times, when people actually gave a damn where he was and what he was doing, and waited for him and Clarke to be in the thick of things before they made their move.

He shakes that thought aside, and reaches down to knock on the door with all his might.

"Wow. We blew all this up so you could knock on the damn door?" Diyoza is not a very compassionate woman, he begins to suspect.

"We don't have a key to open it from the outside." He explains with studied patience. "It takes two people and a short procedure to open it from the inside. I should know, I'm the last person who did open it."

For a second, he thinks that Diyoza might be looking at him with the barest shred of respect. "So we stand and wait."

"So we stand and wait." He confirms. "They'll be listening out for us, don't you worry."

"Why don't we just blow it open?" An angry-looking man no one has bothered introducing him to seems to like the idea a little too much.

"We're on Earth now, McCreary." Diyoza snaps at him. "And these people know Earth. We follow their plan, for now."

"We shouldn't blow the door. You never know when you might need an intact nuclear bunker on this planet." Clarke looks to him with the tiniest smirk, but he doesn't return it.

She stole his line. Not his exact words, as such, but he's supposed to make the lame jokes and lay into the other side's idiots. And she's supposed to tell him not to, but in an affectionate sort of way with a little smile that shows she doesn't really mind in the slightest.

She's supposed to love him, too, so perhaps it doesn't matter so much who tells the jokes, in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps that's not his priority right now.

He maintains his silence as Diyoza and McCreary bicker about nothing in particular and Clarke looks at him with an expression he cannot quite read. He was right, last night, he thinks. He really has forgotten how to communicate with other actual adults.

Within minutes, they hear the noise of metal on metal, and the door below them starts to open. And before he's even had time to process that this is happening, that he's about to find out for certain whether his little sister has survived the end of the world, she is there, bounding up the steps, falling into his arms.

"Bell! Big brother! You made it."

"O! Oh my God, O, you're OK."

It isn't until she pulls back from his hug that he thinks better of his words. She looks physically fine, thank goodness, not worryingly thin, and only a little pale. But the red paint adorning her face has him wondering rather abruptly if, perhaps, _she's not OK_.

"Clarke." Oblivious to his discomfort, Octavia has moved on. "It's good to see you. Thanks for taking care of him up there."

"Actually -" Clarke begins, then cuts herself off, biting her lip so hard he sees her draw blood.

"O -" He follows up, then realises he is no better equipped to continue the conversation.

"I'll save you the trouble." Diyoza speaks up, tone abrasive as ever. "She didn't. He spent the time running around a forest adopting a child, she flew back down to rescue him yesterday. Happy reunion, yes? Now let's get this done."

Octavia responds to that, turns around and starts barking orders down the steps. Clearly she is not quite the affectionate sister he remembers, if she's not going to hang around to ask more about what went so wrong. And before he knows it, Miller is clapping him on the back, and Indra is offering him a respectful handshake, and Jackson is looking absolutely relieved as he pulls Clarke into a hug.

It takes a good few minutes, but after several dozen reunions he realises that the people he is greeting are no longer strictly _friends_. They are acquaintances, yes, and mostly cordial ones, but they are far from being his nearest and dearest. The flow of people who were most eager to see him and Clarke has stilled.

And yet Abby and Kane were not amongst them.

And, sure, he's been a bit self-absorbed and mopey of late – although he thinks that's hardly surprising and not unfair – but he's pretty certain he'd have noticed Clarke greeting her own mother. With some apprehension, he asks Jackson what has become of them.

"Where are Abby and Kane? Are they – they survived, didn't they? They're OK?"

"They survived." Jackson confirms, unsmiling. "They're not OK. Go to them now, while Bloodreina's distracted by all this. Just go straight down and you'll find them."

He doesn't like the sound of that. He doesn't like it at all. Between the fact that something is obviously wrong with Abby and Kane, and his sister has apparently become _the Red Queen_ , he feels that Jackson's answer couldn't have been much worse. Hating himself a little for ruining the relative joy she is clearly experiencing, he approaches Clarke where she stands in deep conversation with a child.

"Bellamy, have you ever met Ethan?" She asks, with a warm smile she was supposed to save for meeting Madi, damn it. "Look, he's all grown up now."

"I'm sorry." He whispers, hoping the child cannot hear. "We need to go. There's something going on with your mum and Kane. Jackson said we should go find them now."

She doesn't wait to be told twice, simply bids Ethan a brisk farewell and slips down the stairs. And he follows close behind, of course, because following close behind Clarke Griffin is what he does, come hell or high water, come desertion or desert.

"Where are we going?" She asks, as they pass through the airlock. This time, of course, there is no incongruously long hug, there is no mention of the reason they could never shoot one another.

"Jackson said just go straight down and we'd find them. I don't know what's happened, Clarke, he wouldn't say, just that they're alive. We'll fix this, whatever it is, I promise -"

"What if you can't?" She asks sadly, as they open the next door. "What if some things can't be fixed?"

He's going to cry, going to blubber like a child, he can feel the pressure building in his tear ducts, feel the lump stuck in his throat. She can't mean what he thinks she means. She _can't_. She can't mean that they can't fix this, can't fix them. She can't mean that things between them are broken beyond repair, can't mean -

Shock dries his tears. He walks through the door and there, before him, is a scene out of a nightmare. The atrium of the bunker has been turned into an honest-to-god _cage_ , metal grilling of twisted wire lining the platform that winds its way around the walls. And the walls are stained, and the floor is stained, and everything, but _everything_ , is stained in the same dark-rust shade that can only mean one thing.

He vomits a little into his mouth, swallows it back down again.

"What..." He's never heard Clarke lost for words before, and he doesn't like it.

But then, with absolute horror, he understands the meaning of Jackson's instructions. They would find answers if they went _straight down_ , that was what he said. And it makes sickening sense, now, as he takes in the scene directly below him. Three bodies, sprawled at unnatural angles, limbs twisted and torn in death. And there, in the middle of them, curled up on himself and sobbing, one lonely, living figure.

Marcus Kane.

"Clarke." Bellamy reaches out to put a steadying hand on her shoulder. Whatever might be wrong between them, she will need him for this. He doesn't need to be well-practised in human interaction to realise that.

"Is that...?"

He nods, once. She's not looking at him, but she takes his silence as his answer and gets on with running. He wastes no time in following her, following that spiral that loops around the walls, lower and ever lower into the bowels of the Earth.

He remembers the last time they ran this way, together yet apart. Him at the top, trying to save his sister. Her chasing desperately, trying to save her people.

They reach the bottom and waste a precious second on wondering what to do. He's never seen Marcus Kane sobbing in a heap before, and he highly doubts that she has either. He takes a deep breath, and starts to cross the blood-soaked floor.

"Kane?" He speaks, a quiver in his voice that he does not recognise. "It's Bellamy. And Clarke's here, too."

"Bellamy?" Kane raises his head, squints at him in confusion. "Clarke?"

"We're here." Clarke confirms. "We came to get the bunker open."

"Thank goodness you're here." With that news, somehow, the broken man before them starts to look a little like the former Chancellor he is. "It's good to see you both."

"You too." Clarke agrees. "Where's my mum?"

"I'll take you to her." Kane offers, pulling himself to his feet. "There are a few things I should explain on the way."

With that, he starts walking towards the door, but Bellamy does not follow. He finds himself standing amidst a puddle of blood and noticing that, presumably, it used to flow in the veins of one of the people his little sister swore to protect. And that's revolting, of course, disgusting and heartbreaking and above all, _tragic_.

But isn't it also a little bit his fault?

"Bellamy?" Clarke turns when she realises he is still frozen in place. "Aren't you coming?"

"No. You go on and see your mother. I'll see you later. First – I need to speak to my sister."

…...

It doesn't take him long to find Octavia. That's how tyranny works, right? The dictator is generally the one standing in the respectful bubble of emptiness in the midst of the crowd.

"Octavia." He pushes through the throng, not particularly caring which old friend might receive an elbow to the guts in the process. He reckons he could teach any one of them a thing or two about having the air knocked out of their lungs, after yesterday.

"Bellamy?" She seems surprised rather than happy, he thinks. Well, then. She can join the club.

"I need to speak to you. Alone."

She looks affronted, but he doesn't care. There are more important things afoot here than insulting a murdering lunatic. Clarke would have told him off for that, he thinks. She'd have told him to be careful, and not to provoke _Bloodreina_. But he's done with being careful. He's been careful for six years, and it hasn't helped.

They make their way to an empty building and he finds himself rather sad that the door is nothing but a few splinters of charcoal. A good door slam could be pretty cathartic right now.

"What's all this about, Bell?" She asks, in that wheedling tone she used to use when she wanted another story after bedtime.

"Bloodreina. The Red Queen." He sucks in a long breath, wonders where on Earth to begin. "Tell me about the fighting pit – how did that happen? Because it looks to me like someone read Ovid a few too many times."

"Six years is a long time." She says, as if that's any explanation for death and dictatorship. "Things have changed. I've changed."

She's not the only one. "We've got a lot to talk about, huh?"

"We do. Just not right now."

He briefly wonders about throwing her against the wall and telling her that she doesn't get to choose when and where he shows her the error of her ways. Pointing out that he is her big brother, and she is his responsibility, and he takes his duty to keep her on the moral straight-and-narrow rather seriously.

But then he remembers that she might just be the only person currently in this city who still loves him. And that he was supposed to feel less lonely when they opened that damn door.

"I don't trust these people, Bell." She continues, clearly unused to other people's input in conversation, these days. "Who are they? Where did they come from? Why are they helping us?"

"I don't trust them either, OK? But I trust Clarke." It will always be true, no matter what else comes between them. Not matter if he can't decide whether he still hates her slightly, this morning, in the cold light of day.

Octavia snorts and rolls her eyes. "Of course you do."

"She has leverage. Trust her. Trust _me_."

She pauses, deep in thought. "What kind of leverage?"

That is the moment he knows he has won, even before he seals the deal.

"She's holding two hundred and eighty three of their people hostage."

That does surprise her, he can tell, from the widening of her eyes even as she tries to keep her face impassive. But she collects herself, quickly, and gives the slightest shrug.

"All in a day's work for the Commander of Death."

With that assessment she strides from the room.

…...

There is more standing around, after that, tension building, emotions fraying. Diyoza starts looking almost _happy_ , at one point, though, and that worries him.

There is nothing he can do about that, he supposes. He is not a leader here, not any more, and he is not even the right-hand-man of a leader if the last twenty-four hours are anything to go by. In fact, as his sister bustles off to talk to Miller about something and gesticulates to a small crowd, he finds himself completely superfluous. He sits on that same makeshift seat he occupied only this morning, and allows the hours to pass, and tries to sort through his thoughts.

So his baby sister makes people fight to the death for her own power and her people's entertainment. That's new. And not in a good way.

His daughter is hundreds of miles away, in a valley occupied by hostiles, protected by a couple of people he used to be friends with. Not ideal. And Murphy and Emori looked about ready to stab each other at the slightest provocation, as they took their leave this morning. That's also new, and also very much _not good_.

And then there's Clarke. At least on that front, he supposes, some things are not new. She's still into planning, and saving people. She's just less into – well – _him_ than he might have hoped and -

He jumps to attention at a sudden, unwelcome sight. McCreary is grinning, and it makes him look rather like that panther Bellamy remembers shooting all those years ago.

He wants to go and find Clarke. Not because he will find any comfort in her presence, of course, but because if there is a crisis brewing she ought to be here to deal with it. And OK, sure, maybe he does want to know how things went with her mum and what Kane had to say. In his defence, he's been worrying about Clarke for years. It's a hard habit to break.

And Diyoza and McCreary are _both_ grinning now, heads close together, no doubt plotting the destruction of everyone and everything he cares about.

Yes. Time to fetch Clarke.

He has barely made it three paces when she appears on the scene anyway, and he stifles a wry chuckle at the thought that, it seems, they will always be able to read each other's minds at least a little. But then he sees the drawn weapons the Eligius prisoners are now pointing towards Clarke and Octavia, and he no longer feels like chuckling.

"What are you doing?" Clarke asks, tone measured, brows raised. "One call from me -"

"You make your call." Diyoza challenges her, equally measured.

"Monty, Harper, come in, do you read me?" Clarke speaks into the radio, and he thinks he can hear a quiver of worry beginning to enter her voice beneath that gloss of self-confidence she wears so well.

There is an excruciating silence. Bellamy thinks this is probably a good moment to take up his age-old post at Clarke's side, shoulder just in front of hers, ready to jump in front of a bullet for her should a bullet suddenly materialise. Just in case.

"The deal's off." Diyoza informs them, as if the lack of response from their friends has not already told them as much. "But nobody has to get hurt."

Well. He'll believe that when he sees it. Based on his experience of Earth to date, someone always does.

"Hold your fire." Diyoza gives the order to her men, then turns to Clarke. "Where's your mother?"

"She's our doctor." Octavia interrupts, though the question was not addressed to her. Clearly she is used to being the one who answers, these days. "You can't have her."

"She asked you a question." McCreary growls, the resemblance to that panther growing ever stronger. "Where is the doctor?"

Abby appears, then, and decides to offer herself over to Diyoza, saying something about terms and about Marcus as she goes. But Bellamy's not listening to her, not really. No, he is far too busy watching Clarke's face, as that impassive-leader-expression he knows so well gives way, her mouth twisting into a grim line, her eyes filling with sudden sadness.

All at once, he gets it. Abby's one condition was that Marcus should come with her and have Diyoza's protection. She said nothing about _Clarke._ Six years apart and for some reason her own mother is more than happy to run away with a stranger and leave her behind.

It makes his own reunion with Clarke look positively _affectionate_ , he thinks sourly.

No, his disappointment should not be his priority right now. He needs to help Clarke look calm and in control, needs to show her that he will always stick by her side no matter how things lie between them. Needs to show her that he will not abandon her, not ever, not as her mother is doing at this very moment.

He steps even closer to her, arm just brushing hers, and stares Diyoza down with the most threatening frown he can muster.

Clearly their new acquaintance is not easily threatened. "The valley is ours." She tells them coldly. "Any attempt to get there will be met by overwhelming force. As long as you stay here we won't have a problem. Is that a problem?"

"What about Monty and Harper?" Clarke asks.

"For now, insurance." She turns to address her men. "Let's go. On me."

So that's it, then. The prisoners are going to march back to his home, where his daughter is, where his old friends are. And they're going to take Clarke's mother with them, and he is left to stand here and watch their retreating backs.

He hates feeling powerless. Always has, always will. But there is nothing to be done, it seems, on this occasion, as they walk away and -

That's when they try to take out his sister with that sonic canon.

…...

It stands to reason, Bellamy thinks, that a fair bit of chaos might follow the shooting of the leader of a bunch of crazy warriors by a rogue enemy prisoner. There ought to be some rushing about, he figures, and a good dose of screaming.

But that's not what happens at all. Indra strides forward, Miller at her side, and the pair of them support Octavia as she hobbles back to the bunker. And the rest of Wonkru stand around, in good order, a small handful coming forward to ask whether they can help. It's eerie. There is no other word for the careful discipline on display here, for the utter respect for Octavia's orders, wishes and wellbeing.

Bellamy follows his sister and her attendants. He's not sure what else to do with himself, really, and he wants to check she's OK. And he takes Clarke with him, too, suggesting while she looks in the direction of her mother's departure with a dazed expression on her face that maybe there's no point standing around all day. He's a bit worried about her, actually. Losing the plot is supposed to be his job, and she is the one who is supposed to hold it together.

He tries to follow Octavia as far as her quarters but is roundly rebuffed by Indra.

"Not in here." She tells him in no uncertain terms. "You should leave her with us, now."

"But – but she's my sister."

That doesn't make a difference, it seems. "You can stay the night." Indra informs them, instead of responding to his point. "Down that corridor, second door on the left. You'll have the room to yourselves. The traitors who used to live there were sent to the pit six months ago."

With that, she turns and shuts the door in their faces.

"Kind of her to let us stay." Clarke mutters, tone harsh with cynicism. "Seeing as we don't have transport, since the people who gave us a lift here to open this damn bunker have just declared war, and all."

Bellamy feels an instinctive urge to stick up for his sister and her old teacher, but given the circumstances, his anger ultimately wins out, too. It seems to do that a lot, of late, for all that he distinctly remembers intending to work on a bit of self-control at Clarke's bidding, once upon a time.

"Kind of her to point out that my baby sister had the previous occupants of our room killed, too."

She frowns deeply, but seems to decide that he has said all there is to say on the subject. Without further ado, she turns and begins to follow Indra's directions. And he is left trailing behind her, as he has done so often in the last twenty-four hours, and musing on the idea of sharing a room with Clarke. He knows, of course, that Indra must mean one of the utilitarian bunk-bed based dorms that make up the accommodation in the bunker, and that, logically, this will therefore be no different from their sleeping arrangements spread over the floor of the cave last night. But all the same, he cannot help but feel the slightest thrill at the idea of sharing a room with her. Whether it's a thrill of excitement or of anxiety, however, he is not altogether sure.

Clarke apparently feels less than nothing about the situation, as they arrive at the room in question, and she tugs off her boots, and collapses onto a vacant bed.

"You going to stand there all night?" She asks, brow quirked, as he hovers just inside the door.

Damn it. He needs to break the back of this sudden aversion to making himself at home in her company.

He laughs awkwardly, and dumps his pack on a bed. If she notices that he chooses the one nearest to hers, she does not mention it but simply stretches out, still fully clothed, on top of her blankets, that flowing hair spilling over the pillow about her head.

He waits for what must follow. This is not it, surely? There has to be some discussion of the day, or maybe the question of how they are to get home tomorrow. She might ask after his concern for his sister and daughter, perhaps, or he might ask how she feels about her mother's abrupt and frankly odd departure. Or they might simply lie an arm's length apart in the darkness and share their hopes and fears for the future, just as he remembers them doing on the road to TonDC so many years ago.

Clearly, that is not what they do any more. He knows this not because she tells him, nor because she offers her apologies and expresses her intention to sleep. He knows this simply because she rolls over, and faces away from him, and within minutes is snoring softly.

He sighs a long sigh and turns out the lights.

As he climbs into his bed he says a silent prayer to any deity who has not completely given up on him for the health and happiness of his daughter. And then he caves and adds a request for Clarke's safety, too, for all that he's pretty sure he still hates her a little for leaving him.

It's a good job all the trees round here have been burnt into oblivion, he thinks sourly, as he feels sleep lurking quite some way off. If there were any trees within range of his fist right now, he suspects he might not stop until his knuckles were raw.

Last time he was this hurt, he seems to remember three hundred grounders died. He rather wonders what mistake he will make this time.

…...

He doesn't realise it is a nightmare, not right away. It is too vivid, too real, and treads all too closely to his sharpest fears.

It is Clarke, first. She's arguing with Octavia, something about a betrayal of trust, and Bloodreina in all her red-stained glory is ordering the woman he used to love – or might still love, he's losing track - to step into the pit. And then Madi shows up, too, and tries to save the day with some ill-thought-out declaration that she is a nightblood and the rightful Commander and that she demands the freedom of _the best mum in the universe_. And then she's being sent to the pit as well, of course, and he's trying to reach them, trying to reach both of them, because he gets it now. He gets that a world where Clarke is alive but in love with someone else is a hell of a lot better than a world where she's dead. That the hatred he feels for her failure to wait for him – both with that rocket, and with Raven – is nothing compared to the depths of his love.

He's running towards them, desperate to reach them. Somehow he knows that they are to be set against _each other_ , and that hurts more than anything. But he can't get there, and the sand of the wasteland is holding fast around his feet, and he is sinking now to his ankles, and now he's drowning waist-deep in shards of glass and there is no escape for him or for these two brave women he loves so much -

"Bellamy."

He jolts awake with a start, disorientated and panting.

"Bellamy, you're OK. It was just a dream, and I'm right here."

Clarke's soothing voice and warm touch help him to get his bearings, even as his legs are still running hopelessly to nowhere through the thick sand. No, that's not sand. It can't be sand, here inside the bunker. Rather, he understands now, it's a tangle of bedclothes, scratchy blankets twisted around his legs so tight that he can scarcely move.

He sits up, slowly, and makes a start on extricating himself from this pathetic situation.

"Thanks." He says gruffly, trying to ignore the heat of her hand burning into his shoulder. "I'm OK, now. Sorry about that."

She gives him a look that he can read in spite of those six lost years. She's telling him quite plainly that he's lost his mind if he thinks she's about to believe he's _OK now_.

"Tell me about it." She suggests quietly, hand still resting against the fabric of his shirt. "Tell me what you saw."

"You and Madi in that fighting pit." He murmurs, eyes fixed on his lap. He can't look at her, not now, mustn't meet her gaze in this moment of weakness.

"That's not going to happen. I'm right here, and she's safe in the valley and you'll see her soon. And I know that things have been... going badly here, but there's no way your sister would put your daughter in the pit."

"I don't know what she would or wouldn't do, any more." He admits. It hurts, so very much, that he no longer knows anything about either of these two people he used to know the best. "But I think – I think you might be in danger, Clarke. I asked her to trust you, that you had a plan. And now that plan's gone wrong and -"

"Bellamy." She squeezes his shoulder. "I'll be OK. You can stop worrying about me."

"I don't think I can. It's what I do." He tells her with a hollow laugh.

"We'll find a way to work with your sister. I know we will. We always do manage to work something out, don't we?"

"Yeah." He gives a strained smile, trying vainly to buy into her attempt at optimism.

They sit in silence for a moment, her hand still unmoving, his heart still hammering at a mile a minute. But he doesn't want to let the quiet stretch out between them, not really. He didn't enjoy that nightmare, of course, but he has to admit that some good has come of it now he's talking to her openly and honestly once again.

He gathers his courage, and tries to continue with that. "How was your mum?"

"Not good." She admits sadly. "Panicky and kind of... shaky. And she wouldn't tell me what was wrong. And then Kane wouldn't tell me what crime he was in the pit for, and then you saw when Diyoza asked for my mum and – and -" She breaks off, weeping messily, and he finds himself rather wondering who she is and what she's done with Clarke Griffin. He has scarcely seen her weep like this on a handful of occasions in all the time he has known her, and only when someone's died. But the only thing dead in a ditch right now is that silly tangle of hopes and dreams he's been lugging around for the last six years.

"Hey, Clarke." It is his turn, now, to attempt to be comforting, and he dislodges her hand in the course of placing a tentative arm around her shoulders. "It'll be OK. No matter what's wrong, you know she still loves you, yeah? And when we get this sorted out you'll be able to see her again. I'm sure there was a good reason why the two of them had to get away."

She nods a bit, still sobbing. She seems content to lean against him for a few minutes longer, until she has cried herself out and starts wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt.

"Thanks." She mutters, when she is through with her tears. "Sorry about that. I – I cry a lot, since we... left."

He files that idea carefully away for later consideration. It is something he cannot quite deal with, in the middle of the night, fresh from a nightmare. "It's OK. Thanks for waking me up."

"No problem. Shall we get some sleep?"

"Yeah." He agrees reluctantly, disappointed not to be able to stay awake and share thoughts with her all night. "Let me know if you need to talk, or anything."

"You too. I hope the nightmares stay away."

She stands at that, and his arm falls uselessly back to his side as she moves away from his bed and back to her own. And he misses her warmth right away, of course he does, almost as much as he misses actually speaking to her.

But at least, this time, she does not roll over to face the wall. This time, he can pick out her much-missed face in the shadows as he hears her breathing grow rough with sleep.


	5. Chapter four

Clarke is not there when Bellamy wakes up the following morning, and he panics. Of course he does. He's made it his life's mission to stick by her side, and every time they are apart, something seems to go horrifically wrong. So of course the sight of her empty bed sends him spiralling into oblivion.

He jumps out of bed and starts for the door, heedless of his bare feet and the morning chill on his exposed arms. He needs to know where she is, needs to find her right now or -

The door opens, and she is standing before him, yesterday's clothes still rumpled with sleep, and he physically sags in relief.

"You OK?" She asks, a concerned crease in her brow, and he realises that he must look more than a little frantic.

"Yeah." He is OK now, after all, now she has reappeared. "Just woke up and you were gone and – yeah – I worry about you."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to make you worry. I just went to get something for your neck." She holds up a small tub. "I'm so sorry, I should have gone to med bay yesterday but I was so tired and upset about my mum that I just didn't think of it."

Well, then. She is definitely not the level-headed Clarke he remembers. "Don't apologise. It's kind of you to think of it at all."

"Sit down." She gestures to the bed he so recently vacated with such haste.

He doesn't entirely understand that instruction. He's pretty sure he's capable of rubbing some cream into his own neck without taking a seat, but whatever. She's the doctor, after all. He therefore does as he's told, and sits himself cross-legged in the middle of his bed.

She's frowning at him, a look in her eyes that he cannot quite read.

"What?" He asks, a little abrupt. He followed her unnecessary instruction, didn't he? Can't she just hand over the ointment now?

"My arms aren't as long as yours." She tells him, as if that's relevant. "You're going to have to sit closer the edge of the bed than that."

He gets it, then, in a sudden rush of embarrassment and excitement. He needs to sit down, because she's intending to see to his burns herself.

He sucks in a careful breath, and moves to the edge of the bed. "Better?"

By way of response, she sets about applying the cream to his neck. And yeah, sure, he's had a couple of seconds to steel himself for this moment, but he is still far from prepared for the sensation of her gentle fingers against his broken skin. He flinches. And it's not a small flinch, oh no, nor a subtle one. It is as if he's recently been hit by a small rover.

To be fair, he _feels_ as if he has recently been hit by a small rover.

"Sorry." She murmurs, hands stilling against his neck. "That must sting."

"It's OK." He reassures her, and her fingers start moving again, and it's the most beautiful thing that's happened to him in six years, no doubt about it.

He wills himself to stay calm, tries to remember to use his head. She means nothing by this, must not have thought of how he would feel at the contact. It is hardly her fault that he has not been touched like this for years. There is, in essence, no reason for his heart to beat faster nor for his cheeks to grow warm – she is just doing what doctors do.

"Thanks for doing this. It's useful having a doctor around."

She goes stiff at that, he can feel it. "I'm not a doctor." She tells him, voice hard. "Or not a good one, at any rate. If I were any kind of doctor, _I_ would have been the one to go to that damn tower. I'd have bandaged up my ankle, and I would have gone out there, and you would have been safe on that rocket and I never would have left you -"

"Clarke." He needs to stop her. She's talking nonsense. "There's no doctor on this Earth that can heal a twisted ankle instantly."

"But I should have -"

"No." He reaches up to where her hand still rests against his neck, covers her fingers with his own. She's not his to touch like this, of course, and he is not Raven, but he's not about to let that stop him now. Not when she needs him.

" _No_? What do you mean, _no_?"

"No, it shouldn't have been you. I'm a nightblood. I survived. If you'd stayed behind you would have – you'd be dead. And I think I made it quite clear last night that I need you to be _alive_."

Her hand is on the move again, slow considering circles around the front of his neck, now. "I've been cursing that twisted ankle for six years."

"Stop." He recommends softly. "Curse something else, if you're still angry. Curse that accident that took out the comms system. Curse Praimfaiya. Curse ALIE. But don't you dare curse anything _Clarke_."

She sighs, loud and long, and he wants so badly to hold her. But that would definitely be overstepping his mark, of that much he is sure. She keeps silence for a moment, stroking a streak of cream gently across the last of the burns on his neck.

"I'll try." She tells him, in the end, as she screws the lid back onto the tub. "You're all done."

"Thanks. Time to go face the day?"

"Yeah." She agrees. "Time to go face this, together."

…...

That spirit of togetherness endures throughout the day and he is heartily glad of it. As they carefully gather such information as they can from Jackson and Miller, they fall into a familiar pattern of confident companionship, sharing what they have learnt, agreeing wordlessly where to try next. And then they stand shoulder to shoulder as they face down Indra and Octavia, and whilst they do not actually succeed at convincing the monster who used to be his little sister to avoid the sandstorms – well, the way they work together even as they fail is almost like old times.

OK, sure, it's only like old times as long as he carefully avoids noticing that it's his flesh and blood they are failing to convince. And as long as he carefully avoids noticing the bruises staining his knuckles blue, and carefully avoids noticing that Clarke keeps a polite four inches between her body and his at every turn.

He might have to practise being a bit more unobservant, it seems.

All the same, Bellamy finds himself feeling incongruously optimistic as he hefts a pack over his shoulders and strides out of Polis in the direction of a desert and near-certain disaster. His sister might be leading most of the remains of the human race into death by sandstorm, but they are heading in the general direction of his daughter and Clarke's speaking to him, so that's something. And the most encouraging thing of all about the morning, without doubt, is the way that she's acting a bit more like _Clarke_. A bit more rational, and awe-inspiring, and rather less _broken_ than she seemed last night.

As they walk side-by-side into the unknown, he is reminded of the two of them leaving Polis for Arkadia after the City of Light. He considers it for a moment, wondering whether that's the sort of observation he ought to share with her. Will it sound too sentimental? Will she think it's a clumsy attempt to refer to that short-lived pre-Praimfaiya relationship?

He must stop thinking of it as a relationship, he chastises himself. His naive desperation can do neither of them any good. It was a _kiss_ , and that is all it was, and he is an idiot for ever trying to make more of it than that.

Before he has made his mind up either way, Clarke starts to speak.

"You don't look happy." She observes drily but not without a hint of sympathy. "Worried about Madi?"

Yes. Yes, he ought to be more worried about Madi than about Clarke. What kind of father does it make him, that he is not? He bites his lip, hard, and tries to formulate an answer to her question.

"Bellamy? What's wrong?"

Everything. Everything's wrong.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong." He takes a careful breath. "Just – yeah – Madi. Last thing I remember Murphy and Emori were together, and they both hated me for being willing to test the nightblood on Emori when – when I wasn't prepared to test it on you. How come they hate each other now? And how come they're suddenly so keen to babysit my kid?"

She sighs and shakes her head a little. "They haven't hated you in _years_. Not since the moment you – you saved us all."

He nods a little, and tries not to be too disappointed that she does not choose to pick up on his reference to his desperate determination to save her, to the parallel between Murphy's feelings for Emori and his own for Clarke.

"They're not together any more." She continues carefully. "But they obviously still love each other, they're just angry, too. Space was... difficult. For all of us."

He hums, less than convinced. Nothing about life is ever _easy_ , in his experience.

"Tell me more about the ground?" She asks, apparently noticing that he is not inclined to respond to her previous remark. "I want to hear all about Eden. Is the hunting good?"

The hour that follows is boring. He's pretty certain of that. The sun is hot, and their water supplies are limited, and the conversation is an endless stream of trite anecdotes about deer from him, and about algae from her. At one point he branches out and tells a story about the time he fell in the river whilst learning how to fish. And she responds by recounting the evening that Monty was a bit too generous with the moonshine and they played charades, and he catches himself in his first carefree laugh in years.

So, yeah, boring is good, it seems. Boring is safe, and comfortable, and after the life he has lived, it is not a million miles away from joy.

"You want a drink?" He asks at one point, holding out his canteen. Offering a drink to an old friend is rational and normal behaviour, he hopes. There is no reason for her to read anything amiss in the thoughtfulness of the gesture.

"Thanks." She reaches out to take it, then recoils with a gasp. "What did you punch?"

Well, now. He doesn't see much point in lying. "A tree. Seemed a better idea than smashing that radio dish to pieces."

She doesn't answer that. Of course she doesn't. She has no idea why he's talking about a radio dish at all, and is staring at him like he's lost the plot, and he is beginning to wonder whether, maybe, she might be onto something with that.

He clears his throat, and thrusts the canteen into her hands, and tries a different topic. If she's allowed to ask about his hand, he reckons he's allowed to ask about her tears.

"Clarke, about last night -?"

"Don't worry about it." She cuts him off before his question is even half asked. "It's understandable. I get nightmares about you dying too, you know."

"That's not what I was going to say." He clarifies, somewhat taken aback. "I'm sorry to hear about that and if you – you know, if you ever need to talk you can wake me up, of course. But I was actually going to ask about what you said about crying a lot since you left. What did you mean by that?"

"I meant I cry a lot." She tells him in a tone that does not invite further conversation, as she presses the canteen back into his hands.

Screw that. He's done with being polite. "What did you mean about crying a lot? What's wrong? What – what can I do to help?"

"Keep not being dead." She admits quietly, rubbing a hand over her not-quite-dry eyes.

It's a start, he supposes, and it's clearly all he's going to get. But he reckons that he's not yet heard the half of it.

…...

The shadows are lengthening by the time Octavia calls a halt and orders Wonkru to pitch the tents. And, of course, they go about doing her bidding with that same neat obedience and well-drilled dedication that so struck him in the ruins of Polis yesterday.

It frightens him, really.

He shakes that thought off, focuses on taking a seat next to Clarke. Focuses on the positives of a day spent catching up on stories of the six years they missed, and practising easy companionship, and sharing water and laughter.

He does not focus on the elephant in the metaphorical room, the one issue on which he has most definitely _not_ been caught up. It has certainly not escaped his attention that the only new development they have not discussed today is her relationship with Raven, and he knows that this cannot have escaped her notice either. And he's frustrated by her silence on the matter, of course he is, but he's concentrating very hard on _not_ _focusing_ on the shattering of his hopes, nor on the knots that tangle in his stomach every time he accidentally dwells on the thought for so much as a second.

He turns his mind, instead, to an attempt at cheerful conversation.

"So, Wonkru ration bars – better or worse than algae?"

She laughs, a little hysterically he thinks. Then again, there has been a hint of hysteria in almost every laugh he has heard from her since she landed. "Better. Definitely better. That stuff sucked."

"And this doesn't?"

"Oh, it does. But trust me when I say that algae is the worst. The only person who was kind to Monty about his algae was Echo, and I'm pretty sure she was just trying to win his friendship. Even Harper agreed it was disgusting, and she's in love with him."

"So they're still going strong?" He asks, tone casual. Perhaps this is it, he wonders, his opportunity to ask about those shifting relationships on the Ring.

"Definitely. They're devoted to each other. She even stayed with him on the Eligius ship, wouldn't hear of being separated from him."

Yes. That must be nice, he thinks. To have someone love you so much that they refuse to do anything other than stick by your side. He wonders how it would feel, and conveniently forgets, in that moment, that Clarke wanted to stick with him, all those years ago. That she would have done it, too, were it not for that twisted ankle.

"I'm glad they're happy." He offers, tone neutral. "I hope they're being treated well as hostages. And you said that you think there's still hope for Emori and Murphy?"

"I'm certain of it." She states fiercely. "You saw them together. Even when they won't look at each other they're still inseparable."

He nods carefully, and tries to marshal his thoughts. He wants to ask about Raven, can feel the question burning on the tip of his tongue, but he knows that he cannot just come out with it. Knows that this is one of those occasions when he needs to use his head, needs to choose his words wisely. But he can feel it building in his throat, can feel himself teetering on the very edge of saying something he will regret for the rest of his days.

She's looking at him, eyes narrowed, mouth twisted into a frown. "Bellamy, I -"

"So I guess you're more into women now?"

She stares at him, horrified, for fully five seconds. And he cannot altogether blame her, really. He's pretty horrified at himself. And then she blinks, once, and begins to put him very soundly in his place.

"I'm into _human beings_ now, Bellamy. Just like I always have been. I can't believe you would – wow. Lexa happened to be a woman. Raven happens to be a woman. You and Finn were men. Why would you even -?"

" _Am_." He interrupts her, raising his own voice even though he knows he's in the wrong, even though she has got to her feet and started striding away from him. "I _am_ a man. Still. Not _actually_ dead, remember?"

She doesn't respond to that. She has already disappeared into Jackson's tent.

Last time he was this hurt, three hundred grounders died. And yet, somehow, in this moment, those few thoughtless words feel like a mistake at least as large.

…...

She's still Clarke, so of course she heals his sister. No matter what he has said or done, no matter how much she has changed and how much more prone she is to storming off in floods of tears than the Clarke he remembers, it seems that caring for a patient is still her priority.

It is just as well that she jumps into action so quickly, really. He is still somewhat slow on the uptake, distracted as he is by wondering what he could possibly mean by _you and Finn were men_. Because unless he's completely lost his mind – which, you know, is a distinct possibility – that seems to imply that he's on that list of people she's been _into_ at one point or another.

Maybe he wasn't completely delusional in thinking that kiss meant something to her, after all.

It is that thought which finally convinces him to pull his head out of the sand and get to work on helping out with the patient. The proximity to an angry Clarke is uncomfortable, sure, but the only way he's ever going to make a start on putting things right between them is if he spends some time around her and finds a moment to apologise. There is, of course, also the matter of Octavia having a parasitic worm in her arm, but he's seriously struggling to care very much for this woman who has so little in common with his baby sister. She even seems to have changed her name, he thinks sourly, noting that even while she lies on her sickbed Indra is still referring to her as _Bloodreina_.

The worm is removed, of course, because the list of things Clarke Griffin cannot do is very short, and surgery in a desert is all in a day's work for his practical Princess. And Octavia is resting quietly, now, and there are only the two of them at her bedside.

He takes a deep breath and wonders where to begin.

"Clarke. About earlier -"

Of course, that is the moment when the radio crackles into life and they learn of the incoming missile.

…...

He has done some grim things for love, in his life. He has shot a man for a chance at boarding a dropship bound for a radiation-soaked planet, and he has climbed a tower to nowhere as the world burned. But this night is going to rank pretty high on that unpleasant list, he reckons.

Of course he takes one of the outer places in the huddle that protects Octavia from the sandstorm. He has to. She is still his sister, and as he realises the danger he finds that he is furious at himself for being so callous in his thoughts about her earlier. She will _always_ be his sister, will always be his responsibility, no matter what the world may do to her. And Clarke is bending over her patient, of course, and monitoring her carefully even amidst this chaos of swirling shards of glass, and he will always do whatever it takes to protect her, too.

So it is that he takes his place, shoulder to shoulder with disciplined strangers, a borrowed cloak stretched across his head and back. It doesn't quite reach his hands, really, and his fingers are exposed where they curl around the edges of the fabric to hold it in place. But in the grand scheme of things he reckons that's a small price to pay, to protect two of the three people who are his world. And besides which, his knuckles were having a bad week anyway. How much worse can this be?

It can be much worse, as it turns out. Punching a tree is simply not on the same scale as hours spent feeling his skin ripped to shreds by shards of angry desert. But he holds firm, and concentrates on Octavia's sleeping face, and on the curve of Clarke's neck as she concentrates on her patient in turn. He holds firm, even as the missile hits the tents they have been forced to sacrifice.

It passes, of course, and as the huddle around him falls apart and people begin to straighten out and stretch their sore muscles, he wipes his hands briskly across his borrowed cloak. They will heal, in time. At this rate, he suspects that they will heal before his heart will.

The crowd clears, and he steps forward to Octavia's side.

"How's she doing?" He asks Clarke.

"She's stable." She tells him, eyes still focused on his sister's motionless body. "She just needs to keep resting until we move out."

"Great. Thanks for – thanks for looking after her."

"No problem." She nods briskly in his general direction and starts to get to her feet.

Then she freezes, mid-way, crouching absolutely motionless with a look of horror on her face.

"What happened to your hands?" She asks, voice raw.

He shrugs. "There was a sandstorm. Not sure if you noticed."

"This is not something to joke about." She reprimands him, with a little more heat and a lot less affection than his poor attempts at humour always used to elicit. "God, Bellamy. You're _bleeding._ Badly. Let's get that sorted out."

"I'm fine." It is not the truth, but his hands are at least closer to _fine_ than anything else about this situation. "There must be other people who need your help. And you must have lost most of your medical supplies in the storm -"

"Bellamy, _please_. Have a seat." She sits herself back down and opens up her pack.

He sighs, and admits defeat. At least he might be able to use this opportunity to apologise to her, perhaps.

"Clarke, I need to -"

"I can't believe you let this happen." She reprimands him as if he never started to speak. "Why would you stand in the outer file _without gloves on_? They must hurt like hell."

He shrugs. It's not exactly the most painful thing he's experienced in the recent past.

"This is going to sting. I'm sorry. But I need to clean it and check that – that there's no glass in there. And then bandage it up. And the other hand was already bruised as well, wasn't it?" He is silent, and she seems to take that as confirmation and carries on. "You – you seem to be getting hurt a lot, recently."

"Yeah."

"I don't like it when you get hurt."

He doesn't bother to answer that. He's been hurting since she landed, but she doesn't seem to have taken the time to notice that.

"Be a bit more careful, please?" She continues, voice as soft as the touch with which she cradles his bleeding hand. "I know that _careful_ has never really been your thing but – but I need you to stay safe. I can't keep seeing you like this."

"I'm sorry." He mutters, immediately flooded with guilt as he hears her tone grow stiff with sadness. "I didn't mean to upset you. I just – I was just doing what I had to do."

"I'm sure you _had to_ punch that tree, as well."

"Yeah." He agrees, voice harsh. "I did."

She does not reply to that, only continues to clean his wounds. He curses himself yet again, for taking that tone with her. He was supposed to apologise, damn it, was supposed to try to make things right and show her how sorry he is. He wasn't supposed to lash out, not when she's being kinder to him than he deserves.

"I'm sorry." He murmurs in the end. "I'm so sorry for earlier, Clarke. I was out of line. And – and I'm happy that you've found happiness with Raven, really I am."

"I wouldn't say I've found happiness." She tells him wryly. "I'd say that I can _cope_ when I'm with her, but that's not the same as happiness. But I can't believe you'd ever say something like that, Bellamy. The Bellamy I used to know _wouldn't_ have said something like that. You've studied plenty about old Earth culture, you know full well that there were countries on Earth before the bombs where I could have been _killed_ for loving another woman. You know that – that it was a completely unacceptable remark to make."

"I know." He admits, ashamed. "I know all of that. That's why I'm so angry with myself for saying it."

She doesn't reply, as she concentrates on securing the bandage around his right hand, and he steels himself to take a risk. He figures that there's not really any way today can get _worse_.

"I know it's no excuse but - but I only said it because I've been so hurt that you didn't... wait for me." He swallows painfully and stares at the horizon which is starting to glow golden with the approaching dawn.

He hears a sob by his side, and curses himself for saying the wrong thing yet again.

"I'm sorry." She chokes out. "I'm so sorry. I told you, I've been cursing that for six years. If there was any other way... But I had to save them, Bellamy. And I had to leave you behind."

She breaks down, weeping brokenly, and he wants to place a comforting arm around her shoulders but he knows he can't. Not if he's going to make it through saying what he needs to say next.

"That's not what I meant." He murmurs. "I didn't mean that you didn't wait with the rocket. You did the right thing. I meant that I was hurt that, after that kiss, you moved on. I was hurt that you didn't wait for _me_."

He cannot stay, after that. Cannot listen to her sobbing, or to her apologies, or to her excuses. He gets up and strides away into the sunrise.

…...

It takes him a while, but in the end he does manage to decide on a destination. He locates Miller, and tells his old friend that he needs a favour.

"A favour? What do you need me to do?" He seems a little confused at being asked, and Bellamy can hardly blame him. They don't appear to be quite on the same side, just now, but he doesn't really have anyone else he can go to about this.

"I need a hair cut." He informs him, before he can back out of it. "And I think I'd better shave."

Miller does a good job, actually, of replicating the shorter mess of curls Bellamy remembers wearing in his dropship days. He cannot see the outcome, to be fair, given the lack of mirrors in this particular missile-obliterated corner of the wasteland, but as he runs his fingers through his hair it feels right, somehow. And as he sheds the scraggly beard, too, battling against the difficulties of shaving with his hands bandaged, he finds that it is good to make this change. There is no sense in looking like he has let himself go, just because he has decided he had better let _her_ go once and for all. He has told her his truth, and now he must get on with healing and growing.

The sun is fully up by the time he finishes attending to his appearance and braves company once more. He's not sure what to say to Clarke, how to go about telling her that he gets it, that she did what she had to do, that when he really concentrates on it he can understand that this is just how things are, now. How to tell her that along with his honesty and haircut he'd quite like a second attempt at friendship, and that he'll stick by her side no matter who she happens to kiss.

He never has to work it out, in the end. He is still standing about in the crowd and wondering what to say to Clarke when he sees the rover appear on the horizon.

And all at once he is running towards it, of course he is. Because the one person on this planet who still actually loves him is presumably in that rover, his fierce daughter come to save the day. And yeah, sure, he supposes that Raven and Echo and Emori and Murphy are along for the ride to complicate things, too, but he'll take all the complications in the world as long as his little girl is safe and well.

Barely has the rover ground to a halt when Madi is leaping out of the passenger door, and running into his arms, and wrapping him in a hug so tight that he begins to remember how this incredible child held his sanity together single-handed while they waited for Clarke to come home. He finds that he was mistaken on one detail – Echo and Raven are the only other people to emerge from the rover, and there is no sign at all of Murphy and Emori.

"Bellamy! What happened to your hands?" Madi asks as soon as she has pulled back from the hug.

He answers her question slowly and carefully, and this is because he cares about her and wishes to give an honest answer. Of course it is. It is absolutely not because, if he is concentrating on telling Madi every detail of the sandstorm, he cannot be tempted to look over at Clarke's reunion with Raven.

He is a couple of minutes into his explanation when he realises that Madi is frowning, and not exactly paying attention but rather staring over his shoulder in a deeply perplexed state.

"What is it?" He breaks off his less-that-thrilling tale to ask. "What's wrong?"

"So it was weird when Raven and Clarke were snogging the other day, right?" He feels his heart drop to his toes at that inauspicious beginning. "Because you always said she was going to be my mum when she got home. But – but now they're _not_ snogging and it looks even weirder."

He cannot possibly resist the temptation to check the truthfulness of that suggestion for himself. He is only human, after all, and a pretty damn flawed human at that. Feeling rather guilty, and very aware that it is actually none of his business, he twists his neck to a painful angle and takes a peek.

Sure enough, they are not snogging. They seem to be hugging, and then Clarke is kissing Raven on the cheek, and now they are still wrapped in one another's arms but rather _loosely_ so, and he cannot altogether work it out.

"You're right." He agrees with Madi, not letting himself dwell on it any further. "It's weird."

At that, he begins to usher his daughter over to Clarke. There are plans to be made, after all, and making plans is Clarke's job.

Sure enough, no sooner have they arrived at her side than she starts telling them that Octavia is to be transported back to Polis in the rover, and the rest of her people are to follow on foot. And no sooner has she said that, than she is striding over to Miller and Indra to clear this plan with them. And no sooner has she done that, than his semiconscious little sister is lying in the back of the rover while the rest of them stand around and argue over seating arrangements.

"I'll drive." Raven declares, and once again Bellamy finds himself taking careful breaths and trying to remember that this woman is one of his closest friends.

"No you won't." He corrects her sharply. "It's my rover." His determination to stake a claim to this inanimate object is perhaps, he concedes, vaguely related to the fact that he's apparently not supposed to feel possessive of Clarke.

Raven narrows her eyes at him for a fraction of a second, then nods. "OK, but I call shotgun. I've missed this old thing."

"Raven, don't you think Madi might want to sit up front with Bellamy?" Clarke suggests gently.

"It's OK." Madi rushes to assure her. "I can catch up with him later. I'd – I'd quite like to ride in the back with you, Clarke, if that's alright? I feel like I haven't had chance to talk to you yet."

Bellamy bites his lip at those nervous words, at the blatant evidence that his daughter feels more attached than he now realises she probably ought to this woman she has yet to actually speak to.

But Clarke, of course, takes it all in her stride. "Sure, Madi. It'd be great to get to know you. Bellamy was telling me all about you when we were walking yesterday. He said you taught him how to fish?"

With that, she hops into the back of the rover, and Madi jumps in after her, an excited smile splitting her face. Echo follows, of course, dutiful as ever, and Indra seems to have decided that she can't let Octavia out of her sight even for the time it would take her to walk back to Polis.

"Come on, Bellamy." Raven claps him firmly on the back, but her voice is lacking some of its usual sting. "I thought you wanted to drive? Let's go."

…...

He expects this journey to be hellish. He's driving his injured baby sister back to a bloodstained bunker, and the other passengers of the rover are his precious daughter, the woman he loves, the woman _she_ loves, and a pair of frightening warriors. He's pretty sure road trips don't get more intense than that.

But then Raven turns to him, and says with a genuine tenderness he has never heard her use before that she's so happy he's not dead, and somehow he breathes a little easier. He was friends with her, once upon a time. Sooner or later he might even be able to believe it.

"Thanks." He says, trying not to sound too moved. "I'm relieved you guys are OK, too. When you didn't come back at the end of the five years I started to think something had gone wrong."

"Oh, things went wrong alright." Raven confirms, with a hollow laugh. "No fuel, a scare with the oxygen system. Murphy in a coma from the first culture of algae. Murphy and Emori yelling and throwing things at each other. And I'm guessing from the way you keep looking at Clarke that she's not told you about what's been going on with her but – yeah – that hasn't been pleasant, either."

"All she said was that she cries a lot."

Raven scoffs. "Something like that. She'll tell you when she's ready."

"I just want to know." He knows he sounds desperate, pleading even. "I want her to be able to talk to me so that I can help with – with whatever it is."

"She'll get there. Just give her time and remember that – that the Clarke you love is still in there."

He gasps at that, turns to glance at her face, but she won't meet his eyes. And he's frustrated beyond belief, really, and also pretty damn annoyed, because she can't just go around saying things like that and expect him not to feel a tangled mixture of humiliation and curiosity and incongruously optimistic hope.

Raven remains silent, and Bellamy cannot think of anything to say. No, that's not strictly true – there are plenty of words turning somersaults on his tongue, waiting to be set free. But he's supposed to think before he acts, just like Clarke told him to, and he can't think of anything _sensible_ to say.

So they do not speak for a few moments, and he allows himself to take in the sounds coming from the back of the rover. And the atmosphere at his sister's mobile sickbed is apparently not particularly sombre, if Clarke's dry laugh and Madi's youthful giggle are anything to go by. In fact, he catches himself musing, it sounds almost like he always hoped their first meeting would sound.

"It's good to hear her laugh." Bellamy murmurs to Raven, trying to tread that line between finding out what he can do to help but respecting Clarke's privacy.

"Yeah. It doesn't happen often. I think Madi will be good for her."

"Madi's good for _everyone_." He informs her, fierce in his praise of his daughter.

"I'm not going to disagree with that. Has she had chance to tell you yet that she got Murphy and Emori back together?"

"What?"

"I think it was deliberate, too. She was telling us about the stories you told her growing up. She said that one of her favourites was the one where they were going to test the nightblood on Emori and Murphy started yelling that he loved her."

"Yeah, she was twisting the truth a bit there." He concedes. "She did love that story, but that wasn't her favourite part. She preferred the bit where – where it was me who took the nightblood, and Clarke smashed up the radiation chamber."

"Let's be honest, Bellamy. That's _everyone's_ favourite bit of that story." Raven tells him, and he can't help but feel that it's a strange comment, coming from the girlfriend of the woman in question. "The queen of reason, loosing her cool to keep you alive? She always did overreact when it came to you. That's something you might want to bear in mind while you're working all this out. Just saying."

He frowns at her yet again, and wonders what on Earth can possibly be going on. What is the meaning of all these cryptic clues? And why is Raven of all people suddenly so fond of reminiscing about his short-lived relationship with Clarke, anyway?

"Thanks. I'll remember that."

"You're going to have to. But yeah, long story short, right after Madi's story, Murphy volunteered to be the one to go on a raid to grab a few things we needed from the village. Said it was going to be dangerous, and he didn't want anyone to get hurt, and stared at Emori while he said it. And then just got up and walked out of the cave. And then she ran after him, of course, and then when they came back three hours later they were holding hands."

"And he realised all he had to do was stop being a selfish ass and she'd take him back?"

"Pretty much, yeah. And they all lived happily ever after."

He laughs at that, against his better judgement. He's pretty sure that _happily ever after_ still lies some way off, for all of them, but he has to admit that this is at least less wretched than he expected to be. If nothing else, he notes, he seems to have rather more friends than he had last night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing!

By the time they arrive back at Polis, Octavia is rather more alert. She is alert enough, in fact, to interrupt Clarke's commentary on her condition with a pointed contribution or two of her own.

"She's looking much better, Bellamy." Clarke reports to him from the back of the rover. "Just drive safe, there's no need to rush. I think she's waking up again so you -"

"I'm awake." Octavia confirms, although she doesn't exactly sound pleased about it. "I'm fine. Now get me out of this damn rover, I have a war to plan."

Indra takes over at that, clearly rather more practised at the art of mollifying her. "Bloodreina, we're nearly back at Polis. You need to rest there until you are well. For the good of your people, you must get strong again before you lead us into battle."

Bellamy fails to repress a shudder, looks over and sees his own fear reflected in Raven's eyes. This creature cannot possibly be his sister. He will not even entertain the notion. He remembers how much he was looking forward to opening the bunker, and recalls that he expected to be rather less lonely with Octavia by his side. The universe must have a pretty sick and twisted sense of humour, he thinks, to have instead presented him with a situation where he is bonding with Clarke's new girlfriend over their shared horror at his sister's behaviour.

They arrive back at the bunker soon enough, and Octavia protests a little as Indra helps her to step down from the rover and hobble back to her room. Bellamy follows, and this time the door is not slammed in his face. No, he is welcomed in only somewhat grudgingly, and Clarke joins them, too, med kit in hand.

Madi hesitates for a moment, and it breaks his heart to see that the couple of short days that he left her with his friends for safekeeping were long enough for her to start to forget that her place will always be by his side.

"Come on, kid." He invites her in with all the cheer he can muster. "We're just going to see to your Aunt Octavia and then we'll show you the bunker."

"I don't want to see the bunker." She pouts. "I want to talk to Clarke."

He freezes a little at that, frightened of the reaction that request might elicit. She has been talking to Clarke for the last four hours straight, after all, and he's concerned that his daughter's behaviour might start to look a bit excessive. A bit _obsessive_ , even. And apart from anything else, he doesn't want Clarke to be bored or annoyed when she must want to make the most of her reunion with Raven.

"We can do that, too." Clarke smiles warmly at Madi, and he breathes a sigh of relief. "But first we need to look after Octavia. Come on."

With that, at last, Madi is convinced and crosses the threshold. Octavia's quarters are extensive, it turns out, and Bellamy cannot help but wonder if this is all a bit much when her subjects are living crammed into cramped bunk rooms. His sister, by contrast, has a large office, and a sitting room, and a generous bedroom with the biggest bed he thinks he has ever seen.

It is certainly a far cry from a childhood spent curled beneath a floorboard.

She is surprisingly compliant when Clarke orders her to spend the rest of the day in bed, getting beneath the covers without objection and relaxing into her pillow. Perhaps, he wonders, that worm venom might be stronger than they thought.

Or perhaps his little sister is still in there, somewhere.

Clarke checks her vitals, gives her a dose of some medicine or other, and then steps back with a small smile. "You're OK, Octavia, but you really do need to rest. You're to stay in bed for at least twenty-four hours."

"Sixteen." His sister compromises. "The war council meets at dawn."

Clarke frowns, hard, at her patient. "Eighteen. I'm telling you, you'll do your people no good if you get back to work while you're still sick."

Octavia nods, briskly. He supposes that counts as a _thank you_ from her, these days.

Her task accomplished, Clarke heads for the door. "I'm going to go see how Raven's getting on in engineering."

"Sure." Bellamy feels he is probably supposed to acknowledge this statement, and thinks it best if he pretends that he doesn't feel a twinge in his chest every time she mentions Raven. "I'll stay for a bit, if that's OK?" He directs this last to Octavia, who gives another of those brisk nods.

"See you later, then." Clarke pauses, takes a careful breath. "Madi could come with me, if she wants? I can show her some bits of the bunker and she can chat with me and Raven and Echo."

He knows how he is supposed to answer that suggestion, can read plainly on his daughter's face that he will never be forgiven if he does not agree to this particular plan. He does agree, therefore, and the pair of them take themselves off out of the door, and Indra follows, too, saying something about making plans for the battles ahead.

And Bellamy is left alone with the woman who used to be his sister.

"You have a lot of questions to answer, big brother." She tells him, eyes sharply focused even as she lies on her sickbed.

"I do?" He tries for a flippant tone, but he knows she will not be so easily put off.

"Let's start with the child. Who is she?"

"Madi. I found her and adopted her. I made her a nightblood with bone marrow, just like Abby did for me." He knows the lie is a poor one, knows that anyone who has ever met him will be able to see through it. He's no biochemist, remember? And no one is better qualified than his sister to realise that he could not even begin to understand how to do what he has just claimed to have done.

"I see." She says, evidently dubious but not keen to take that point any further on this occasion, and he sighs with relief. He must avoid at all costs any suggestion that his daughter wishes to claim her rights as a natural born nightblood, must avoid any accusation that she would challenge Octavia for power.

"It's thanks to her that I survived, really. I'd have given up without her."

"Then I'm pleased you found her." Octavia tries for a sisterly smile, but it looks out of place against the warpaint she still wears. "Let's talk about Echo. Since when are you on her side? She's a traitor who once tried to kill me. And she did kill Gina, perhaps you've forgotten that?"

"I haven't forgotten that." He grinds out, resenting his sister's talent for hitting him where it hurts. "But she's on our side, now. She changed in space and she's loyal to our people."

"Our people?" She repeats, incredulous. " _Our_ people? They are not Wonkru, so they are not my people. And they sure as hell aren't _your_ people. They left you to _die_ , Bell."

He resists the urge to soften at this evidence that she cares about his wellbeing at least a little. "They did what they had to do to survive. And they're still my people, and they always will be. So if they say that Echo's loyal, then I trust that. I trust them."

"You trust _Clarke_." She throws back at him. "And look where that got you. She's hurt you, yet again, just like she always does. I wonder how many weeks she mourned you before they hooked up. Weeks? What am I saying? I wonder how many _minutes_ -"

"That's enough, Octavia. Clarke's private life has nothing to do with you. Move on to the rest of your questions."

"You're still defending her? It's pathetic."

"It's _loyalty_." He bites back, throat thick with tears as he realises that, breathing or not, his little sister really is dead and gone. "Now, if you've nothing else to say to me, I'm going to go catch up with _my people_."

"Do that." She waves a lazy hand. "Have a nice evening. But be ready to march when I say the word."

…...

As he tackles a flight of stairs in search of _his people_ , Bellamy begins to notice the weariness creeping into his bones. He may be fit from six years on the ground, but he walked all day yesterday, and stayed up all night standing firm in that sandstorm, and his legs feel rather like they are made from the same cheerless concrete as the walls of this damn bunker. And his hands certainly have enough bloodstains to match the Pit, seeping through his bandages every time he attempts to flex his fingers.

He reaches engineering at last, and opens the door. And then he freezes, on the threshold, struck once again by the impossibility of entering a room inhabited by Clarke. She is smiling, this time, grinning even, eyes alight with joy as she chats with Madi. And she has changed her clothes, too, discarded the rumpled black outfit in which she landed, and pulled on a pair of leggings that cling to her form a little too closely to be good for his sanity, and a top the colour of her eyes.

He shakes himself slightly, and makes a valiant attempt to engage brain and behave normally.

"Hey." He walks into the room and notices Raven at last, looking up from a computer screen. "How's it going?"

"It was going great until these two showed up just now." Raven complains without heat. "They keep distracting me."

"What are you trying to do?"

"I want to know if I can hack into their eye in the sky from here. If they can't see us, we might not actually get massacred."

"Sounds like a plan." He agrees, dismayed that they are discussing this quite so casually. "And what have you and Clarke been up to, Madi?"

"We went to her mum and Kane's room." She tells him, glowing with enthusiasm. "And Clarke borrowed some of her mum's clothes, but I guess you noticed that."

Yes. Yes, he has very definitely noticed that, but he senses that mentioning it would not help him at this moment in time.

"I wanted something clean and I figured that if she can abandon us she can't complain about me stealing her stuff." Clarke tells him, with a valiant attempt at flippancy. "I left something of Kane's on your bed, too, if you want to change?"

"On my bed?" This is all getting a bit too _domestic_ for comfort.

"Yeah. I guess we're using the same room we were in the night before last? There's enough beds there for all of us."

"Right. Yes, of course. I'll go drop my pack there, then. Madi, could you come with me?"

"Can't I stay here?"

"I really need your help with something, Madi." He tells her, a warning in his tone.

She sighs, and nods. "Can we hang out again later?"

"Of course we can." Clarke rushes to assure her. If the smile on her face is anything to go by, she has warmed to the girl every bit as quickly as he always hoped she would. "We'll find some supper together in a couple of hours? And then maybe we can teach you how to play charades."

"Does that sound like a deal, kid? Chores with me now, and then supper and charades?"

"I guess."

With that, they leave Clarke and Raven to whatever it is that the two of them get up to when they're alone together. He doesn't really want to spend too long dwelling on what, exactly, that might be, so he supposes he ought to be grateful for the distraction when his daughter starts asking difficult questions. He's not grateful, though, for the record. He is getting very good at the art of being bitter and distinctly _ungrateful_ , these days.

"Why are you lying to Clarke?" Madi has chosen the wrong moment, he decides, to become a confrontational adolescent.

"What?"

"You're lying to her. And I want to know why."

"I'm not lying to her."

"You told her we were going to do chores. I'm pretty sure there's no laundry to take to the stream in a _nuclear bunker_."

"I just thought Clarke and Raven might want some time alone together. You know they've not seen each other for a couple of days and they should get chance to catch up without you around."

She is frowning at him, he can see it as he glances across at her while they walk. "I don't see how leaving them to have alone time is going to help you get Clarke back."

He gasps in shock, clenches his fists so hard he feels the wetness of blood start oozing underneath his bandages once more. "I'm not trying to _get Clarke back_ , Madi. That's ridiculous. I just want her to be happy."

"I think she'd be happier if you didn't lie to her." Madi suggests, as they take a left turn and come upon yet another deserted corridor. This bunker is even more frightening, he decides, when it is empty of its terrifying inhabitants.

"For God's sake, Madi. I lied about _chores_. It's not the end of the world." He hates himself for raising his voice at her, but seems powerless to stop it.

"You're lying about me, too. If you really trusted her you'd tell her I'm a natural nightblood."

He sighs, loud and long, and realises that she makes a very good point.

"You might be right, Madi. And I do trust her, more than I trust anyone in the world. But – it's been six years of just you and me. It's going to take me a while to share that with anyone, even Clarke. Because if the grounders find out what you really are, some of them might try to replace my sister with you. I can't have you caught up in a power struggle, especially during a war."

"I know you're just trying to keep me safe. But you can tell Clarke, you know you can."

"I'll think about it." He decides. "I promise. Is that OK?"

"Yeah." She still looks unhappy, and he rather wants to punch another tree. Maybe he'll find a suitable patch of wall, later, when everyone else in their damn shared room is fast asleep.

"I'm sorry, kid. I didn't mean to shout at you."

"That's not why I'm upset." Madi clarifies, pulling him into a reassuring but rather awkward half-hug as they walk. "I'm upset because you don't want to try to get her back, and you don't want it to be like those stories you used to tell me."

"It's more important that she's happy." He tells her firmly. Of course, he doesn't actually know whether she's happy, because he has taken such care to avoid ever watching the two of them together. "That will always be the most important thing to me."

That is a safer answer, after all, than trying to explain that she was never really his to lose.

…...

Madi is good at charades, it turns out. That comes as no great surprise, seeing as she is an exuberant child and all. The shock of the evening is that Echo is keen on the game, too, and is capable of smiling, and being what he might call _good company_. And Clarke and Raven sit next to each other, of course, but they are not wrapped up in each other like he might have feared. In fact, he barely sees them touch, and the only hint of what exists between them comes in the form of the concerned glances Raven throws at Clarke when she thinks that no one is looking. So it is that they pass an enjoyable evening, Bellamy and Madi and their three friends from the sky, and they make a concerted effort to forget that Octavia and Indra are planning a war down the next corridor.

It becomes harder to ignore that when eight hundred Wonkru warriors make it home, and stumble noisily past the door and to their own beds. Bellamy can scarcely imagine how exhausted they must be, and how desperately loyal they must be to Octavia to put themselves through the things they do for her.

The company breaks up a little, then, Clarke saying she will go and see what news she can pick up on her way to and from her last bedtime checkup on Octavia, Raven explaining that she left a programme running down in engineering and she wants to go look at the results before she turns in for the night.

And then he is left with only Madi and Echo for company, and he notes that it is a situation he could never have imagined finding himself in, only days ago.

"Time for bed, Madi." He recommends, pulling back the covers for her on the bunk above his.

"But I want to stay up and listen to Echo tell me stories about the Ring."

He expects to have to win this argument for himself, but Echo speaks up and surprises him. "Save your questions to ask Clarke tomorrow, Madi. I think it would do her good to tell you some more stories. Maybe you could drag Bellamy along to listen, too?"

"You don't think she's getting bored of me asking her?" Madi's voice is sharp with insecurity. "I don't want to annoy her."

"Not at all. I think she's really enjoyed talking to you." Echo reassures her with a gentleness that rather takes him by surprise.

This is enough to pacify Madi, and before long she is curled up in bed and dreaming what he hopes are sweet dreams. And Echo turns her back to the room and pulls the blankets up around her shoulders, too, but Bellamy rather struggles to imagine his old enemy sleeping easily. She may have been fun for one evening, and kind to his daughter for one minute, but he's still not exactly feeling warm towards her. Trusting her on his friends' recommendation is, he must acknowledge, rather different from actually liking the woman.

He takes himself to the bathroom, but not only because he needs to go. It also strikes him as the only place he is going to find a shred of privacy in this crowded bunker, and privacy is one thing he is sorely in need of.

He sits heavily on the toilet seat and has a cry. It's not something he's proud of, but nor has he the energy to be ashamed. And besides which, he suspects that no one will ever know. The one person who can read him well enough, these days, to know when he's hiding something, is already fast asleep, and the only other person who has so much as half a hope of working it out almost certainly doesn't care.

He does not cry loudly, nor messily. He simply weeps silently, tiredly, completely drained of joy by the events of the last few days. It is as if he has spent his last remaining fragment of optimism on that game of charades and now finds himself running on empty.

At length, he runs out of tears and wipes his hands across his eyes. Another advantage, he supposes, of having his knuckles wrapped in soft, absorbent bandage, for all that he is getting fed up of the uncomfortable way that the fabric sticks to the scabs. And then he actually uses the bathroom for its intended purpose, and washes his exposed fingertips as best he can, and prepares to leave.

Only he doesn't leave. Not quite, not yet.

He stands for a moment, gaze fixed on a tiny flaw in the wall. There is a little lump in the concrete, an imperfection where the casting has gone slightly awry.

He punches it, hard, throws the full force of his weight behind his fist. Imagines that the bump in the wall is his hopes, or his dreams, or maybe that piece-of-crap radio he carted around so pathetically all those years. And he feels the broken skin of his knuckles give way yet again, and feels his mouth twist into a hurt but satisfied frown.

And then he wipes carefully at the blood that has leaked from beneath the bandages, determined not to soil this clean grey shirt Clarke picked out for him. And then he wipes the frown carefully from his face, and replaces it with what he hopes is a neutral expression.

And then he walks back to the dorm, and lies absolutely exhausted but wide awake in his bed.

…...

Bellamy does not know how much time has passed when Clarke returns. All he knows is that it's enough time that anyone whose head was in decent shape would be fast asleep, so he supposes that he had better pretend both sanity and snoring.

And then Raven enters the room not long after, and he curses himself. Because it is too late, now, to announce that he has actually been awake all along, and so he supposes he will have to lie here, unmoving in the darkness, and listen to Clarke and Raven's pillow talk.

"Clarke? You still awake?" Raven's whisper breaks the stillness.

He almost gives himself away in laughter. Of course she's still awake. Anyone who has ever shared a room with Clarke Griffin surely knows that the sound of her steady breathing right now is her _awake_ breathing, not her soft snore. Or maybe he's the only one who's ever noticed that.

"Yeah." Clarke's reply sounds all too close in the darkness, and he tries not to shiver at the thought of the scant yard between their beds.

"Do you want me to join you? Do you need me to hold you tonight?" Raven's tone makes it clear that this is not an unusual arrangement.

"No, I'll be alright." There is a pause, and then Clarke continues. "I was fine the other night, every time I woke up I could see he was OK so I managed to fall asleep again."

"That's good." Raven murmurs, voice warm.

Silence falls, and he supposes that this might be it. He has learnt that one of the developments in Clarke's life over the last six years is that she has significant trouble sleeping, and has learnt that she relies on Raven's presence to get through it. And that hurts, sure, but it's a hell of a lot more useful than the complete lack of knowledge he was working with only minutes ago.

He has learnt, too, that his presence is of relevance in all this, somehow. That there is some link between his being OK and her being able to sleep. There cannot be anyone else they are talking about when they refer to _him_ and his presence in the room two nights ago. But he can't think too hard about that, not right now. That way lies insanity, he's pretty sure, and he's teetering close enough to that already as it is.

Then Raven surprises him by breaking the silence once more. "If you wanted to go hold him tonight, I'd understand. You know I would. I'd understand if you wanted to call it a day on us altogether and -"

"Raven. Please." Clarke's voice shakes and it hurts him to hear it. "I can't think about that right now. It's all – it's too much."

"OK." Raven's voice is quieter than ever, quieter than he could even imagine she is capable of. "I'm sorry."

"And anyway – I don't think I'd be welcome. He's angry with me, Raven. He told me he was hurt that I didn't wait for him and that I got together with you." His heart hitches at the sadness in her tone, his guts twisting into knots inside of him even as he forces himself to lie motionless. How could she think that he wouldn't be there for her, however angry he might be?

He resolves that he will have to do rather better, in the morning. He will have to show her that, hurt beyond bearing though he is, he wishes her nothing but happiness.

Raven gives a dry chuckle. "Trust me, Clarke, when I say that however angry Bellamy Blake might ever be with you, he would never begrudge you a hug."

…...

He must have fallen asleep eventually. He realises this because he is now very much awake. But before he has the chance to realise much else about the situation, his attention is caught by Clarke's flailing limbs and senseless muttering.

He jumps out of bed without a second thought, takes the solitary step that bridges the distance between them. And then he kneels by her side, and places a tentative hand on her shoulder.

"Clarke? You're OK, Clarke. You're just dreaming, and I'm right here."

She blinks into wakefulness, understandably confused.

"Bellamy?"

"Yeah. It's me. I'm right here." He pauses, wonders whether his next words are wise. "Still not dead."

"Thanks." She says with the ghost of a grin despite her distress. "I like it better that way."

He's not sure how to respond to that, so he simply squeezes her shoulder instead. He doesn't know where the boundaries lie, any more, doesn't know what she would find comforting and what she would find intrusive, so he resists the urge to gather her shaking body into his arms.

"Thanks." She says again, still shaking.

"You don't need to thank me, Clarke. I'd – I'd do anything for you." He gets the words out with difficulty, determined to act on his late night resolution to show her he still cares. "You have to know that. Just because I was hurt doesn't change that fact."

"You really mean that?"

"Yeah."

Silence settles over them for a moment, and he is content to let it. He listens to her regain control of her breathing, feels her body grow calm beneath his fingertips. He cannot help but resent the layers of bandage that come between them, for all that he knows the thought is an inappropriate one for this particular time and place.

"Bellamy?" Her voice is still shaking, it turns out, even though her body has fallen still.

"Yeah."

"Would you – does _doing anything for me_ include a hug?"

"Of course it does." He answers easily, and waits expectantly for her to sit up and wrap her arms around his torso.

She does no such thing. Rather, she shuffles away from him, and pulls back the blankets to expose the side of the mattress closest to where he kneels at her bedside. He holds his breath for a couple of seconds, wondering whether she means exactly what he thinks she means. He will curse himself for the rest of his days, he knows, if he misreads her now and makes this situation even worse. But he's not sure there are a whole lot of other interpretations available for requesting a hug then pulling back the bedclothes.

Still, he decides in the end that he has to check. "Clarke? You sure?"

"Please." She murmurs, and he can see her eyes shining in the faint light that spills under the door from the corridor.

Slowly, carefully, giving her time to change her mind, he slips into the bed at her side. And then he eases one arm under her shoulders, wraps the other firmly around her waist, and holds her close against his chest.

"This OK?" He whispers into the crown of her head.

"Yeah. Thanks, much better."

"Want to tell me anything about the nightmare?"

"You were dead." She tells him, voice weak. And that scares him, really, because if there's one thing he associates with Clarke Griffin it's strength. "You're always dead. And it's always my fault, and I try to stop it but I can't and then – then -"

She breaks off in tears, and he hugs her ever tighter. "Hey, Clarke, I'm OK. I'm alive, and that's what matters, right?"

She nods against his neck.

"Can you feel my heart beating?"

Another nod.

"There you go, then. Still not dead."

His shirt is damp by the time she stops crying, but he's OK with that. Clarke's tears seem like a far more acceptable stain than his own stupid bleeding hands. He'd gladly ruin every shirt he owns if it earns him the privilege of caring for Clarke like this more often. Not that it's actually his shirt, but he reckons the point still stands. He's not happy about the situation. Of course he's not – she's upset, and so he's upset, too. That should be obvious. But he does feel honoured beyond belief that, after the inauspicious beginning they made when she first landed, they have made it so far. He can only hope that their journey does not end here.

He thinks she might be on the verge of falling asleep again, now, her breath growing more even but still just about sounding awake, her precious body relaxing as he cradles her in his arms. And he's rather wondering what he's supposed to do at this point, whether she wants him to hold her a bit longer, or whether he's meant to retreat back to his own bed and pretend this never happened.

As if she has read his mind, she twists her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, much as he remembers watching her grasp at that nightgown all those years ago.

"Stay with me?" She whispers into his chest.

"Sure."

After all, sticking by her side - it's what he does. It's what he does _best_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter six

Bellamy wakes up early the following morning. He usually does, these days, accustomed as he is to being up and about to greet the dawn on the ground. And it's just as well that he's awake so early on this occasion, he realises that very quickly. Because he's absolutely certain that the complicated state of affairs between him and Clarke will not be helped by the other occupants of the dorm seeing him in her bed this morning.

He gives a heavy sigh, and tries not to waste too much energy in wishing that he could stay here, like this, forever. She's still hugging him tight, even in sleep, and the bare skin of her waist is warm beneath his fingertips where her shirt has ridden up. He supposes that it is not impossible that she might want him to hold her like this again, some time in the future, based on the way last night played out, but he's not counting on it. In his experience, counting on anything is a recipe for disappointment.

He sort of wants to find some way to mark this moment, to bid her goodbye before he takes himself back to his own bed. He's tempted to press a kiss to her forehead, currently smooth with sleep and looking so different without the lines that mar it when she's busy saving the world, but he supposes he had better not. Kissing – even forehead kissing – seems like a romantic sort of a thing, and he's practising being a supportive and thoroughly _platonic_ friend for all he is worth, right now.

He allows himself, instead, to squeeze her just a little tighter and nuzzle slightly against her hair. Sure, that's not the world's smoothest platonic friend move either, but he's only human and he doesn't think she'd mind.

God, he hopes she wouldn't mind. He hates himself, all of a sudden, in a cold rush of horror as he wonders what kind of man takes liberties – even liberties as small as that – with a woman who's sound asleep and only in his arms because she wanted comfort from a nightmare. He finds himself wondering idly whether, perhaps, he might be a monster, and perhaps she might have been right to move on to someone a bit more decent.

That guilt is enough to convince him to do what he realised he would have to do the moment he first woke up. He must extricate himself from this situation, and leave her bed. Hardening his resolve, he withdraws the arm that rests at her waist, holding his breath all the while.

She keeps snoring softly, and he breathes a sigh of relief. Now, then, for the more difficult challenge. His other arm rests beneath her neck. Slowly, cautiously, he makes a start on slipping it out from under her.

"Bellamy?" She shoots out a hand to grab at his wrist, rather swiftly for someone who was so recently asleep. "You said – you said you'd stay."

His heart breaks at the drowsy bewilderment in her voice. "I did stay, Clarke. But it's morning now and I figure you don't need anyone asking awkward questions about what I'm doing here."

"It's OK." She tells him, fingers still on his wrist, thumb reaching out to stroke over his forearm. "Raven wouldn't mind. She told me she'd understand."

Yes. He heard that last night, of course, but he'd rather Clarke didn't know he was eavesdropping. "That might be true. But I just think it's simpler this way. I'll still be really near if you need anything."

She keeps silence for a moment, still tracing patterns only she can see over the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrist, and he wonders if she has any idea what she's doing to him.

"OK." She agrees at last. "But you're not going anywhere without me. And you need to let me change these bandages when we get up."

"Sure." He allows himself to reach out and squeeze her hand in farewell. It seems like touching hands is fair game, based on her current occupation, even though he's pretty sure that's usually considered a romantic sort of a thing to do. "I promise I'm not going further than that bed one pace away. You'll probably still be able to poke me if I snore too loud."

That has the desired effect, and she relaxes a little as she gives a nervous giggle. "You don't snore at all."

He is still smiling a minute later, when he is comfortably settled in his own bed. He doesn't think he will sleep any more, but he is reasonably content just to stare at the bottom of the upper bunk and breathe a sigh of relief at the blatant evidence that Clarke still trusts him, and that he still plays some role in her life, however small and ill-defined.

He stops smiling rather abruptly when he hears Raven get out of bed. He wonders how long she has been awake, and whether it was her turn to overhear a spot of pillow talk, this morning.

…...

Bellamy isn't looking forward to having Clarke change his bandages. He's pretty sure that she's a good enough doctor to be able to tell that he hasn't entirely been taking care of his scraped knuckles in the last twenty-four hours, as soon as she sees the wounds.

He tries putting her off, suggesting that he ought to fetch them something to eat, or that she might want to go get some fresh air with the others, but she's having none of it. And he has had plenty of experience of the fact that Clarke Griffin with her mind made up is a force to be reckoned with, so he admits defeat and perches himself sheepishly on the edge of his bed. At least Madi and Raven and Echo have gone on an expedition to the outside world together, so there is no audience for the unpleasantness that is to come.

It is only a matter of time until she realises what he's done, and until she starts looking at him like she's disappointed.

She starts with his right hand, of course, because the universe hates him. And he knew it would be bad, but he didn't expect it to be _this_ bad. The guilt in the pit of his stomach grows ever heavier as she explains to him that there is so much dried blood sticking the bandage to his hand that it will have to be soaked off, and with the lightest touch of her fingertips she starts to lead him to the sink in the corner of the room.

"I'm so sorry." She murmurs as she starts to unwind it. "This must hurt."

"It's fine." He tells her. It hurts a lot less than the pain of knowing that he's upset her, yet again. It was only yesterday, he remembers, in the early hours of the morning after the passing of the sandstorm, that she told him that she couldn't keep watching him get injured. And he'd meant to do better for her, really he had, but somehow it seems like he forgot that, last night, in the heat of the moment when he didn't know what else to do.

She is silent as she finishes removing the dressing, and he tries to prepare himself for her imminent reprimand. He wonders how she will go about it. The Clarke he remembers of old would have told him calmly why going around punching things wasn't a very good idea, and that he ought to have more sense. He rather wonders if this Clarke might just cry at him.

It's been a good couple of minutes, now, though, that she's just been standing there silently cleaning his hand. And surely, he thinks, if she was going to cry, wouldn't she have done it by now?

"Bellamy?" Her voice breaks the stillness, and he holds his breath. "Can you do something for me?"

He doesn't bother answering that. He's fairly sure she's going to ask him if he can stop punching things, and he's fairly sure the answer to that would be a firm and resounding _no_.

"Next time you feel like you need to punch something, could you try to talk to me instead? Or could you try giving me a hug? Or we could go for a walk round Polis together?"

He doesn't answer that in words. He's not entirely sure he's capable of forming any, right now. Instead he simply gathers her into a fierce embrace, and presses his cheek against her hair, and wonders whether, perhaps, he might not need to punch things quite so often now that he is very slightly less lonely.

"This isn't a hug because I want to punch something." He clarifies when he can speak again. "This is a hug for showing me that I'm not alone."

…...

He doesn't mean to ruin everything. That just happens. Ruining things is evidently his greatest talent, he decides bitterly.

It is all going so well, as he sets out with Clarke to go on a short visit above ground to look for the others. His hands are in fresh bandages, and she is in good spirits, laughing at his spirited attempts to recall fun things about living in Eden all those years, and he is in the most jubilant mood he has known since she landed.

That's when they walk into the middle of a conversation between Echo and Octavia which is heated to say the least.

He's taken by surprise, that's how he will justify it to himself, in the hours that follow. He's out of practice at speaking to adults, remember? So when his sister declares that Echo is banished it takes him a bit too long to react, a bit too long to catch up. And the fact that Madi of all people is standing in between them hardly helps matters, either. He thinks it's pretty defensible if he's more interested in his daughter's wellbeing than in his sister and Clarke's new best friend having a row.

"Octavia, please." Raven is now entering into the argument with spirit. "Echo is on our side. She proved herself dozens of times on the Ring."

"This isn't the Ring." Octavia points out, then raises her voice to be heard by the crowd that has gathered. "Wonkru – I banished this murderer from the bunker six years ago. My judgement still stands."

"Octavia -" Clarke attempts to speak up.

"She has twenty-four hours. If she's still here by then, she fights in the arena."

Bellamy hears the shocked gasps from Raven and Clarke that greet that declaration, but he does not really take them in. He is a bit preoccupied with grasping Madi by the shoulders, and dragging her bodily out of the midst of the argument.

"Please, she's loyal to us now. You can trust her." He is vaguely aware that Clarke sounds absolutely desperate, and seems to be glaring at him, but Madi doesn't appear to want to be kept out of harm's way and that is his priority now. He will worry about relearning how to read Clarke's facial expressions when his daughter is not standing in the middle of a brewing crisis.

"Like I trusted you?" Octavia asks with a cold laugh. "Like I trusted your peace deal?"

Clarke is opening her mouth to speak when a roaring noise cuts off any further hope of conversation. It takes him a while to identify the sound, at first – and judging by the confused looks of the others, he is not the only one – but things become rather a lot clearer when a transport ship looms on the horizon.

A cold wave of dread hits him as he remembers that Eligius have _missiles_.

"Bellamy, get in the bunker!" That is his sister, clearly recognising the threat as she orders her people back inside.

He ought to follow that instruction, he realises it right away. He needs to keep Madi safe, needs it more than he needs anything, and hiding her away from potential missiles inside the bunker is obviously the only sure way to accomplish that.

But Clarke is going the wrong way. Clarke is following Raven and Echo towards the inadequate protection of some long-collapsed building, and she is _not_ heading towards the bunker.

It takes him a moment too long to put the pieces together. After all, using his head in a crisis has never been his strong suit. He used to have her for that, once upon a time, and now he has only a long and tiresome history of things going badly wrong and disaster after disaster unravelling around him. So it is that he stands, helpless, and watches his sister walk to safety and Clarke stay in danger.

"Bellamy?" Madi's concerned voice is barely audible over the din.

"Get inside." He instructs her, thoughts still in disarray, alarmed beyond bearing at the sight of something – presumably a weapon – being dropped from the belly of the ship. "Go with Octavia. I have to go after Clarke."

He has taken barely three steps in her direction when he notices that he has lost his mind over nothing. That ship has not dropped missiles on them. It has dropped _food_. But as Diyoza's voice echoes in the still air, he realises abruptly that food might in fact be more dangerous than missiles, given the right tangle of circumstances.

Bellamy is less than surprised when Octavia takes a sword to the speaker on top of the crate of food. Swords seem to be her answer to most things, these days. He is therefore pretty resigned to this course of events, and with only a slight sigh of defeat he gets on with shepherding Madi back towards the bunker. There is no reason to flee there any more, of course, but that's where everyone else seems to be going and he's still struggling to marshal his thoughts.

He is very surprised, though, when Clarke starts yelling at him. Maybe it makes him naive, but he sort of thought wanting to share a bed with him last night might be a sign they were on decent terms.

"You were going to choose your sister, weren't you?" She accuses him with a good dose of venom.

He blinks, confused, and does not even attempt to resist when Raven quietly invites Madi to come visit engineering. "What?"

"Before we realised it was food." Clarke continues to berate him, but he's not yet clear as to what, exactly, he is being berated for. "When you thought there was danger. I saw you, you were going to hang us out to dry because your sister banished Echo, and you were going to follow her into that bunker. I can't believe -"

"Clarke. Hold up. What are you talking about? I was going to follow _Madi_." He does not bother explaining that he changed his mind, as the situation developed, and decided to go after her instead. Based on the fire in her eyes he's not convinced she wants to hear it.

"You never even tried to change her mind about Echo."

"And why should I?" He asks, patience snapping at last. If Clarke is so determined to be completely illogical he's damn well planning to join her. "Why should I even care? Echo has done _nothing_ but kill people I care about, and suddenly I'm supposed to care about her because you say so?"

"You're supposed to care because she protected your daughter for two days while you were apart." She points out, fury in every syllable. "You're supposed to care because caring is _what you do_. Or I used to think it was, anyway -"

"Clarke. What the hell is wrong with you?" He knows that shouting right back at her is not the solution, but it is all he is capable of doing, in this moment. Apart from anything else, he is pretty damn hurt that she appears to have forgotten so quickly what passed between them last night. What was that, if not evidence that he cares?

" _Wrong_ with me?" She echoes, incredulous.

"Why are you being like this? All emotions and overreactions – I thought you had me for that."

"It's been a tough few years." She tells him sharply. "You know, leaving you behind, thinking you were dead? Thinking it was _my fault_ you were dead. Remember that? It's taken its toll."

With that, she runs away from him, plain and simple, fleeing as fast as her legs will carry her into that cursed bunker.

He watches her go, sinks slowly into a crouch. He thinks this is probably the kind of moment where a person might find themselves curling into a foetal position and weeping uncontrollably, but this is about as close to that as he dares to venture in the middle of this mess of warriors and rubble.

He just doesn't get it. He doesn't understand what could possibly have happened to the Clarke he used to think he knew, doesn't know where her precious self-control and prized rational mind have disappeared to. And he's even more confused because so much of the Clarke he remembers is still there. She's still a leader, still a maker of plans. And she still laughs at his ill-timed jokes, and goes out of her way to take care of him, and is far warmer with children than she likes to admit. How is it that she is so very much the same, yet so completely different?

He's tired. That's what eventually causes him to fall flat on his butt with his head in his hands. It's been a long few days, with precious little sleep, and the emotional whiplash of trying to keep up with Clarke's changeable temper is not helping things, either. He just wants to go home with Madi and live in peace. He finds himself feeling very nostalgic, actually, for the good old days of fishing, and missing his friends, and radioing a woman he was absolutely convinced still loved him.

He thinks back to their recent shouting match and tries to work out where it all went wrong. He supposes that she was at least accurate in accusing him of not speaking up for Echo. He can see, now, with a little distance from the heat of the moment, that she might have been upset by that, might have thought he was siding with his sister's unfair judgement. And she couldn't have known that he decided not to run after Octavia, because he had to go and be an idiot and get wound up rather than actually _telling_ her.

He sighs a heavy sigh and wonders what to do next. If only he could turn back the clock and have another go at this. If only he could turn back time and have another go at _everything_.

He briefly contemplates punching one of these conveniently located chunks of rubble, but decides against it. He's going to take Clarke up on that offer of a chat, and maybe even a hug, just as soon as he puts things right with her.

With that resolved, he stands up and wonders where to start. He knows he has no hope of convincing his sister to let Echo stay, but he guesses it might mean a lot to his friends if he at least gives it a try. First, though, he needs to find Madi. He spares a moment to acknowledge Raven's tact in dragging his daughter out of the way of the oncoming storm of his argument with Clarke. Tact is not a quality he associated with her, six years ago, but he's beginning to see that she does, in fact, consistently have Clarke's best interests at heart. And he's starting to suspect, too, that she might even want him to be OK as well.

He gets back to the bunker, and sets out down the stairs. Raven and Madi were headed to engineering, so he supposes that is where he ought to look first. The journey is not a long one, and it passes all the more quickly for the fact that no one stops him to chat in the corridors. Jackson offers him a cautious smile as he walks briskly in the other direction, but no one else seems willing to so much as meet his eye.

He opens the door to engineering, and is taken aback when Madi barrels into his arms with the force of a minor rover crash.

"Bellamy!"

"Hey, kid." He looks over at Raven, hoping she might have an explanation for his daughter's enthusiasm. "You OK? What's all this?"

"I'm just glad you're OK." The girl mutters into his chest. "You were gone a while." Yes, he supposes that's probably true. He might have spent longer sitting there and trying to calm down than he quite realised at the time.

"Sorry, Madi. I didn't mean to worry you."

"I wasn't worried." She tells him, but she's still got her arms around him so he's pretty sure that's a lie. "Clarke said she thought you'd be here soon, but then you weren't."

He jumps to attention at her name, finally takes in the rest of the room and realises that she's sitting in a corner, ostensibly poring over something-or-other on a computer screen at Echo's side. "Didn't mean to keep you waiting. I was just trying to decide how to go about trying to convince Octavia to let Echo stay."

"You were?" Echo asks, incredulous, and Clarke abandons all pretence of concentration.

"Yeah. I'm not sure I'll be able to change her mind, but I figure I should give it a go. It's the least I can do after you took such good care of Madi these last few days. I was just here to pick her up, so we'll be going."

"No." Clarke's voice is quiet but firm. "Don't go. We've got a new plan."

He permits himself, just for a heartbeat, the luxury of being disappointed that she wants him to stay because of the plan, rather than because she wants him around. Then he reminds himself that he has, apparently, got a plan to support.

"OK. Tell me what I can do."

It is Raven who explains, for the most part. She cannot get the eye in the sky down from here, and there seems little hope of Octavia changing her mind about Echo's banishment. She and Echo will therefore pose as defectors accepting Diyoza's offer, and will flee to the valley tonight. Once there, Raven will bring down the system from the inside, and Echo will provide her with the all the expert backup a spy and seasoned warrior is capable of. And Clarke will stay in Polis, and see what she can do from here.

It is, he has to admit it, a very good plan. Or, rather, it would be an excellent plan, were it not for the fact that it takes Clarke's girlfriend and close friend away behind enemy lines when she is, evidently, already feeling rather fragile. It does not escape his notice that she has not spoken since Raven and Echo started to explain. Even Madi has contributed more details, so far, than she has.

"Clarke? Are you OK with this?" He asks when he can bear it no longer.

"It was my idea." She tells him, not meeting his eye. "Isn't that what I'm here for? Coming up with horrible plans to save the day?"

He takes a deep breath and a risk, tries desperately to inject some levity into his voice. "I was beginning to think you were here to be my personal doctor, actually."

She manages a half smile at that, and he sighs in relief as she tries to match his tone. "You might be right. Managed to get into any more fights with defenceless masonry recently?"

"Not since I last saw you."

"That's good. I was... worried you might have done." She admits, oblivious to the puzzled looks their friends are shooting at her for this conversational path which they are, of course, ill-equipped to follow.

"I'm fine." He tells her, and it is almost the truth now that he knows she is still speaking to him. "Shall we go sell this plan to Octavia?"

"Yeah."

She gets to her feet, and strides to the door, Echo and Raven hot on her heels. And as she passes him, she reaches out and gives his arm a gentle squeeze, just once.

It might not be a hug, but he thinks it might be forgiveness. And either way, he reckons the walls of this bunker are safe from him for a few hours longer.

…...

It is easy to convince Octavia to agree to their plan – almost too easy – and it leaves him feeling both suspicious of her motives and a little short-changed at losing the opportunity to prove to his friends that he wants to defend all of them, even Echo.

"Thanks, Bellamy." Raven interrupts his thoughts as they walk the corridor between Octavia's quarters and their own. "It helped having you there. Your sister may have changed, but she still respects your opinion."

"If she respected my opinion she wouldn't have marched into that damn desert."

"I think she'd have done that even if Indra herself was against it." Clarke tells him with a frown. "But Raven's right. Thanks for speaking up for us."

"No worries." He braces himself for another risk. The last one paid off, after all. "I wanted to. You guys are my family, and I should have remembered that this morning."

The three of them make an assortment of agreeing noises at that, and Raven even goes so far as to slap him cheerfully on the back. Madi, meanwhile, runs ahead into their room and throws herself gracelessly on Clarke's bed.

"Madi." He chastises her gently. "That's a bit rude, don't you think? That's Clarke's space."

"She doesn't mind." His daughter states with absolutely certainty.

"She's right there." Clarke agrees with the ghost of a laugh. "You make yourself at home, kid."

His breath catches in his throat at that. He's spent six years calling Madi that, and it feels frighteningly right to hear it fall so causally from Clarke's lips. It feels almost as if those happy endings he promised his daughter during those six long years were not built on shifting sands, after all.

He shakes his head a little, tries to focus on more immediate concerns. Echo and Raven are leaving in a matter of hours, and he reckons that Clarke and Raven must want some time to say a proper goodbye in private. The two 'defectors' will take a radio with them, but there is no knowing if they will get the opportunity to keep in touch very much once they are in enemy hands. And besides which, he knows better than anyone that a radio conversation is no substitute for the physical presence of a loved one.

"Don't make yourself at home for too long, Madi. We're going on a mission."

"We are? To do what?"

"We're going to go collect up those food parcels Diyoza dropped and take them to the kitchens. Just because Octavia rejected the deal doesn't mean we have to go hungry. I reckon we could go spend a couple of hours doing that."

"That's a good idea." Echo jumps in, evidently understanding what he's trying to achieve. "I'll come with you. Raven, Clarke, are you guys OK staying here in case anything happens? You can radio us if there's news."

As manoeuvres go, Bellamy thinks, this one is far from subtle. But it has the desired effect, as all parties agree to the plan and the three of them get going without delay. Madi grumbles a little as they leave the bunker, something about how she wants to play charades, and the odd reminder of her previous comments about the fact that _alone time_ will not help his cause, but he shushes her impatiently and hopes that Echo has not overheard.

Echo is a silent companion, for the most part, and Bellamy is glad of it. She carts vegetables about the place without complaint, and aside from the occasional good-humoured comment to Madi she leaves the pair of them alone.

It gives Bellamy all the time in the world to think, and this is not necessarily a good thing. He's in danger, he realises, of starting to dwell a little too long on Madi's suggestion that he ought to be trying to _get Clarke back_ , and he's pretty sure that's not healthy for anyone. Her happiness is still his priority, of course it is, but he's rather noticed over the last twenty-four hours that conversation and cuddles with Clarke enhance _his_ happiness quite a lot, too.

At last, the food supplies are all stowed, and the burly man who runs the kitchens even goes as far as professing grudging gratitude. And right on cue, dusk is beginning to fall, and Echo suggests that they ought to make their way back to the room.

This time, Bellamy is very careful to ensure that Madi does not reach the dorm before him, and does not have the opportunity to cause an awkward interruption. He makes a point of arriving first, and of knocking loudly on the door, and of waiting for Clarke's answer before entering.

"Hey." She greets them all with a strained smile. "Is it time?"

"Nearly." Echo confirms, striding to her bed to collect her meagre belongings.

"I need to go grab a couple of things from engineering." Raven hops to her feet, looking rather more confident on her braced leg than Bellamy remembers from years gone by. "I'll be right back. Don't go without me, Echo."

There is a burst of nervous laughter at that, and then silence falls. Raven disappears down the corridor, and Clarke's eyes stay fixed on the door.

Madi, of course, is the one to speak first. "Have you been on other missions like this, Echo?"

"I've been on other missions." She confirms in a measured tone. "But not for a long time, and nothing quite like this. It will be good to work for peace for a change, rather than to work for a Queen or King who wants war."

Madi nods at that, and Bellamy breathes a less than discrete sigh of relief. He worries, sometimes, that his daughter has enjoyed his stories of heroism a little too much, that she idolises war more than she ought. It is reassuring to see that she still realises peace is the preferable goal, particularly in light of her current situation as a natural nightblood in the midst of a bloody tyranny at war.

Clarke surprises him by joining the conversation. "I'm sorry to ask this of you, Echo. I know you've been trying to leave that part of your life behind. I'm sorry that I made you -"

"Clarke." Echo cuts her off sternly. "You haven't _made me_ do anything. Octavia banished me, and you have been nothing but good to me. Now come on, let's go find Raven and get this done."

…...

The goodbyes are hard. Of course they are. Madi clings to both of them with little regard for her dignity, clearly aghast at losing two of her new heroes in one fell swoop. Clarke wraps Echo in a long hug, and Bellamy tries to look away while she embraces Raven. He's expecting a repeat of that full-frontal snogging from the day they landed, but by the time he glances back at them they seem to have contented themselves with a brisk peck on the lips. He mustn't be allowed to overthink that, he cautions himself sternly. This is simply neither the time nor the place for prolonged goodbyes, and they must have had a slightly more personal leave-taking in the privacy of the dorm.

He is confused, at first, when Echo hugs him, too. It is only the briefest of friendly hugs, scarcely long enough for him to gather his wits and pat her shoulders in return, but he finds himself rather moved all the same.

"Take care of her." The frightening spy whispers in a frighteningly soft voice. "I know I don't need to say that, I know you will anyway. But just – please."

"I will." He confirms, both syllables laden with honesty.

Raven steps up to him, then, and wraps him in a long embrace, and takes the opportunity to mutter something into the space near his ear.

"You'd best stay alive, Blake."

"I'll try. You, too."

She is quiet, then, simply squeezing him improbably tight for a few seconds more. And then, at last, she pulls away, whispering a parting comment as she goes.

"I'm glad you'll be here with her."

With that, she is gone, striding away from the bunker door and towards the expected landing site of the Eligius ship. He stands, for a moment, transfixed by the confidence with which the two of them go to meet this challenge.

Then he realises with a rising sense of panic that Clarke has started to follow them.

"Clarke?" He grabs at her hand, is relieved when she does not immediately pull away. "What are you doing? You said you were staying here."

"I am." She confirms. "But I just want to watch them as far as the ship. I need to know that they get on board safely without Octavia breaking her word."

He nods in understanding at that. "Then I'm sticking with you. Madi, go back to our room. Lock the door and don't unlock it for anyone but us. You got that?"

"Why can't I come with you?" She asks, her mouth set in a petulant line. "Surely I'd be safer with you."

"I don't think so, this time. We're about to go watch a spy and a fake defector get on an enemy ship while my sister possibly shoots at them. You should go back to the dorm and find something to read."

"We'll be back soon." Clarke takes over, voice somewhat softer than his. "And then you can tell me all about what you've read."

With that, Madi agrees to the plan, and jogs back to the door of the bunker.

"Thanks for convincing her." Bellamy says, as they start to stride in the direction of the ship. "She hates hiding, she spent half her childhood hiding from the flamekeepers."

"Like your sister." Clarke murmurs, and he tries very hard not be moved at quite how well this woman has always understood him.

"Yeah. Like O. And both of them with a pretty massive risk of death if they got caught."

On that cheery note, a nervous silence falls. They find a deserted building with a good view of the landing site, and watch as the transport ship lands. They watch Raven and Echo, along with a handful of others, emerge from the surrounding rubble and approach the ramp.

And then they watch as the air around their two friends is peppered with bullets.


	8. Chapter seven

Bellamy is not quite sure how much time has passed when the shooting stops and the transport ship is airborne once more. All he knows is that Clarke is trembling, and that she has somehow ended up wrapped in his arms. This development would have surprised him, back when she first landed and kept her physical distance so carefully, but he cautions himself not to read anything particular in the frequency with which she has been clinging to him more recently. He knows that she's just seeking comfort, just needs to reassure herself that he's still not dead. And, now he comes to think of it, she's always liked to hold onto him when the going gets tough. He remembers her grabbing his hand as she entered the City of Light, recalls a hug shared as the world burned. So it would be absolutely absurd for him to believe that there's anything more than that going on, now.

"Hey, Clarke. It's alright." He whispers against her hair. "They're both OK. You saw it, they got to the ship safely."

She nods, a little feebly, and continues to lean into him.

"I can't believe my sister would do that, though." He feels anger rising in him. "She said they'd have safe passage. She said they'd be allowed to go. How could she go back on her word like this?"

"She said she'd let Raven and Echo go." Clarke corrects him, one step ahead of him even as she shakes. "Which she did. It's a great tactical move, she made it look like a real defection. But it's also barbaric."

"Sums up my little sister, these days."

She does not answer that. She simple continues to hold him, and they stand in what was once someone's happy home, and he looks out at the wasteland and the darkness.

At length, she breaks the silence.

"I'm sorry I overreacted." She tells him, and he pulls away to look her in the eye.

"What?"

"I'm sorry I overreacted." She repeats, stepping out of his embrace and taking a seat on the floor. "Earlier, when I yelled at you about Echo."

"That's OK." He settles himself carefully at her side. "I get it."

"No, I don't think you do. But I'd like to tell you. I think it's past time I did." She takes a deep breath. "I always did overreact when it came to you. I wouldn't have smashed up that radiation chamber for just anyone, you must know that. That's the answer to the question you're too polite or scared to ask again. That's what's _wrong with me_. I kissed you and – and _loved_ you – and then I was the one who made the decision to leave you behind to die. I'd been so proud of my reasoning, so patronising when I stood there that day and told you to use your head. And what did using my head get me? It got my heart broken." She runs out of steam, and frowns at the dust by her knee.

"I think I kissed you." He corrects her gently. He's not sure where else to start.

"That makes it worse. I didn't deserve you to want to kiss me."

"Not true." He wants to make this better, but he's not sure how. "Clarke, I -"

"Mourning you would have been bad enough." She ploughs on, heedless of his stunned state. "And the guilt, that was horrible. But the worst thing of all was that I just didn't know who I was anymore. Being who I was, making those hard choices, it had ruined the best thing in my life, and I couldn't deal with it. I still can't deal with it."

He never realised he was once _the best thing in her life_ , but that doesn't seem like the most pressing concern right now as she fights back tears.

"Even though none of it matters now? Because I'm alive?"

"It still matters. Because I still made that choice. And then – then I chose Raven, too, and I didn't know at the time you were still alive to be hurt by it but -"

"Clarke. Stop." He reaches out a cautious hand to still hers where it flaps uselessly at thin air. "You don't have to explain yourself to me. You had every right to fall in love."

"But I want to explain. Because it's not like you think. I – I barely slept at all, the first few months. I was going mad, I think, and I couldn't stop crying, and I knew I needed to lead the group but I was so done with leading _anything_. I didn't trust my precious judgement any more. And I was so hung up on that kiss, and what it might have meant, and driving myself crazy with all of the what-ifs and the future we couldn't have. And I just – one day, Raven came to look for me to try to get me to eat something. I was ranting about how the last person I'd kissed was dead and it was all my fault. And I decided I didn't want to feel like that any more so – so I kissed her. Because I wanted to kiss someone _not dead_."

"I get that." He murmurs, as much to try to stem the tide of frantic words spilling out of her as for any other reason.

"No, I don't think you do. I – I started to depend on her. I couldn't sleep unless she was there, and I was using her to forget about you. And she knew that was what I was doing, but she's such a good friend that she never complained. She was just always there for me. And it got a bit better, and I got a bit less desperate, and it started to look a bit more like a relationship – but yeah, that's it. We didn't have antidepressants in space. So I used my closest friend."

"So you don't love her?" He knows this is the wrong moment to feel victorious at the idea, but he cannot quite help it.

"I didn't say that." She mutters.

He sighs. He should have known it couldn't be that straightforward.

"I used a radio." He tells her. He reckons she deserves some difficult truths from him in exchange for what she has just shared.

"What?"

"That was how I coped. I – I called you every day for six years and one week. I told you what I ate for breakfast, and how many fish I caught, and what bedtime story Madi had asked for. And I told you – I told you about the children I thought we were going to have, and the life I hoped we were going to live together when you got back."

She turns to look him in the eyes, gaping in stunned disbelief. "How come you never told me that before?"

"I couldn't. I was too embarrassed. I felt like the most pathetic idiot in the world."

"I'm so sorry I couldn't hear you, and that I couldn't answer. If I'd had any idea you might have survived I'd have waited for you. You must know I'd have waited for you."

He nods, once, sadly. There does not seem any point in following her any further into that dispiriting conversational cul-de-sac. He tries, instead, to help her out. To show her that, however many years lie between them, he will always care about her.

"About what you said earlier - I know who you are. You're still Clarke Griffin. So maybe you're a bit more emotional than you used to be but – you're still _you_. Your logic and reasoning were never the reason _anyone_ loved you." He tells her, because he cannot quite tell her about the reasons why _he_ , specifically, loves her. "People love you for your kindness, and your strength, and your determination to do the right thing however difficult it is, and those things _haven't changed_."

There is a heavy silence, and he wonders if he has ruined everything yet again. Somehow, though, he cannot bring himself to regret it. Even if he has said too much, and revealed that he's still hopelessly in love with her, he hopes that he might have given her a measure more self-esteem.

"Thank you." She says at last, and it's not much but it will have to do. "I'm pleased we talked about this. I – it always feels better being honest with you."

"Me, too." He reaches out and squeezes her forearm gently, a perfect mirror of what she did for him only hours ago. "Shall we go get on with saving the human race?"

She laughs at that, as he intended. "Duty calls. What do you think will have gone wrong this time?"

…...

Miraculously, nothing has gone wrong, this time. On their way back to the bunker they have some discussion about whether Bellamy ought to confront his sister about shooting at the defectors, but find it all too easy to come to the conclusion that doing so would achieve nothing beyond rousing her suspicion. And then they arrive back at their dorm, and knock on the door, and Madi opens it the moment they reveal who they are.

"Clarke! Bellamy! Is everything OK?"

"Could be worse." Bellamy tells her with the barest hint of a smile. "What have you been up to?"

"I read some more Odyssey. He stabbed a monster in the eye with a stick. It seemed like the kind of thing you and Clarke would get up to." He turns and shares a grin with Clarke at that, and then catches himself doing so and wonders when, exactly, _sharing grins_ became a thing they feel able to do once more.

"As far as I remember, mostly we're the ones being stabbed with the sharp sticks." Clarke tells her lightly. "I think your dad might have been stretching the truth a bit."

"He said you once smashed up a radiation chamber to protect him. Is that bit true?" Bellamy holds his breath and wonders where Madi got this remarkable talent for tactlessness.

"Definitely true." Clarke confirms, sitting on the edge of her bed by Madi's side with a relaxed smile.

"That's my favourite story. It's even better than the Odyssey."

"It's my favourite, too." Clarke says, pulling his daughter into a half hug.

Bellamy coughs a little, suddenly rather uncomfortable. "What's the plan for this evening, kid?" He asks, hoping to move the conversation in a less stomach-churning direction.

"Don't ask me." The girl gives a cheeky grin. "Don't you two have to go save the world or something?"

"All done with that for the day." He smirks slightly. He's beginning to remember what it felt like to have self-confidence to spare, once upon a time.

Madi pauses for a moment, then brightens. "Can we play that game where you throw metal into cups?"

There is a beat of silence.

"What?" Bellamy asks, wondering why exactly his twelve-year-old daughter wants to play a _drinking game_.

"The metal and cups game. You used to tell me about how people played it at the Unity Day party and how that was when you first realised Clarke was fun."

For the first time since she landed, Clarke gives a long, loud, full-throated laugh.

"You actually told her that?" She asks when she can talk again, and Bellamy shifts his weight sheepishly from foot to foot. She is certainly more amused than annoyed, so that's something. "You told her that I once played a drinking game and was _fun_?"

He forces himself to meet her eyes. "I told her everything about you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I need to go find some cups."

…...

His task does not take him long, and when he returns to the dorm it is extremely evident that he has been the subject of the conversation in his absence. Clarke has a slight flush on her cheeks, and Madi is beaming from ear to ear, and it is exactly the jovial atmosphere he spent all those years wishing they would share, one day. For the first time since her landing, he does not hesitate to enter a room filled with Clarke's life and laughter. He is only to eager to be sharing space with her.

Playing a drinking game without drinking is stupid. So much should be obvious. But it is also, it turns out, absolutely and completely _fun_. They laugh more than he thinks he has laughed in his lifetime to date, or at least more than he has laughed since they floated his mother.

This is it. He can feel it. This is the happy ending he's been waiting for, if he can only stretch it out beyond this moment.

He can't manage that, in the end. It is Clarke who first suggests that Madi ought to go to bed, and Bellamy gives a start and notices that the hour is growing late. He agrees, insisting that she should be well rested for tomorrow, whatever the new day may bring. Presented with the united parental front she has always dreamed of, Madi acquiesces readily enough, and before long she is tucked beneath her blankets as her breathing grows soft with sleep.

Bellamy is left sitting at Clarke's side in the half-darkness and trying not to remember the rather different circumstances in which they both occupied this same bed, only this morning.

"That was great." Clarke whispers, pulling him out of his own thoughts. "Very _fun_."

He tries for a good-humoured smile, but now that Madi is sleeping and the two of them are left alone together he is rather struggling to remain lighthearted.

"I'm sorry if she's a bit much." He apologises, adding a self-conscious nod in his daughter's direction. "She hasn't met anyone new in six years and she's grown up on stories of you."

"She's perfect. And she can ask me for as many embarrassing stories as she wants." Clarke tells him, with all the fierce loyalty he always hoped she might feel for their little girl, one day.

"Thanks. She's so excited to have finally met you."

"I'd be excited to meet her, too, if I'd been able to hear you telling me she existed all those years."

He smiles sadly. "No point worrying about _what-ifs_. We can only get on with here and now."

"You're beginning to sound like I used to." She tells him with a frown. "Here and now it is, then. What do you think is going to happen tomorrow?"

"Not a clue." He gives a heavy shrug. "I just hope Madi stays safe."

There is a moment's pause, and then she opens a topic of conversation he knows has been days in the making.

"She's a natural-born nightblood." He cannot hear whether that's a question or a statement, cannot quite read her voice the way he used to. "You said she spent years hiding from flamekeepers."

"Yeah. Sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"It's OK. I get why you didn't." She sighs heavily. "Octavia must have worked it out. She knows as well as you and I do that there's no way you could have done that procedure yourself."

"I know. I think she already knows, but I just keep telling myself that as long as she doesn't see us as a threat she won't act on it."

"That's why you didn't want to confront her about shooting the defectors. That's why you were so busy looking out for Madi in the middle of that fight rather than defending my friends." She says, realisation dawning in her tone.

"Yeah. I – I have to keep her safe, Clarke. She's all I have."

"I don't think that's true any more." She leans into his shoulder. "But I get that she's important to you."

"She's more than important." He corrects her firmly. "I wouldn't have made it without her. She – she kept me functioning."

"Then I like her even more than I already did."

They sit in silence for a moment, and Bellamy finds himself rather more comfortable than he was only moments ago. The thing about talking to people in general, and Clarke in particular, he is beginning to realise, is that it only gets easier with practice. And to say that he's scarcely had three days to get the hang of it again after six years of relative isolation, he doesn't think he's doing too badly.

Then, of course, Clarke pulls the metaphorical rug clean out from under his feet.

"I wanted to ask if – if you'll stay with me at night for as long as we're here. I'm sorry. I know that it's probably a really awkward and uncomfortable suggestion for you. But – but it would help a lot if you could." She stammers to a halt, gaze fixed on her hands where they twist anxious swirls into the mess of blankets on her bed.

"Of course I will, if that's what you need. I've done more uncomfortable things for you before now." He nudges her affectionately with his shoulder, hopes she finds his lighthearted tone uplifting rather than inappropriate.

She rewards him with the slightest hint of a smile, fingers still tangling in the covers. "Raven doesn't mind. By which I mean Raven told me to get the hell on with asking you."

"You've heard from her?" He asks, heart lifting at the thought that she might have got a reassuring radio call while he was momentarily distracted. Perhaps when he was out fetching the cups, he wonders.

"No, not yet. I mean – she said that this afternoon. Before she left. When we were saying goodbye."

"You were talking about that then?" He rather presumed they were screwing. That's how he would spend his last hours with Clarke before a dangerous mission, if ever anyone gave him the choice.

"Yeah. I was worried that she was going to let herself get distracted by worrying about me while she was gone. She just laughed at me and said that now I'd got you back I didn't need her any more. And – and I asked her not to say that, because it's more complicated than that, but – yeah."

"I've told you, Clarke, you don't need to explain yourself to me. What happens between you and Raven is no one's business but yours."

"I _do_ need to explain myself, Bellamy." She insists, the blankets now pressed into firm wrinkles by her frantic fingers. "Because I didn't explain myself when we first landed, and then you got hurt, and said a stupid thing, and then I got hurt, and then you started punching walls and – and -"

He's getting the hang of this, now. He pulls her into a rather all-consuming sort of a hug, and holds her while she cries, and whispers words of forgiveness into her hair.

"It's OK, Clarke. It's not the first misunderstanding we've ever had, and it won't be the last. And our friendship was always built on forgiveness, wasn't it? So lets practise forgiving each other now."

She quietens down more quickly this time, and is soon pulling away from his arms.

"I'm sorry." She mutters. "I've been doing so much better than usual this evening, ever since we talked earlier about – about everything. And I thought maybe I was fixed but I guess not." She gives a humourless laugh.

"I don't think you can just _fix_ something like that." He tells her, trying very hard not to give way to tears himself. "I think it's going to take a while to stick all the pieces back together. But we'll get there."

She gives a decisive nod at that, and takes herself off to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Bellamy does likewise, and arrives back to the dorm just before her, and is faced with the awkwardness of standing and staring at her empty bed. He knows he's supposed to be spending the night there, but it just feels wrong and so presumptuous to get under the covers without her explicit invitation.

"Bellamy?" She slips into the room behind him, padding on silent feet, and turns out the lights. "Why are you still standing there?"

"You know, Clarke, strangely I didn't feel particularly comfortable just making myself at home in the bed of my long-lost best friend who happens to be in a relationship with _someone else_."

She laughs at that, just as he hoped she might, then takes his hand and leads him to the bed. She gets in first, and turns her back to him, leaving the covers pulled back behind her in welcome.

"Better?" She asks, and he can hear the smile in her voice.

"Much better." He agrees, curling up behind her, settling a cautious hand on her waist. "Sleep well."

"Of course I will. I've got you for that."


	9. Chapter eight

Bellamy is not good at sleeping. He has been prone to nightmares for as long as he can remember, between hiding an illegal sister and then trying to survive on an inhospitable planet. And, unsurprisingly, those nightmares only got worse when he found himself left behind with a small child while the Earth went up in flames, and worse still when Clarke's return and the opening of the bunker went so very wrong.

There are the practicalities of his current situation to consider, too. This narrow bunk was not designed to be shared by two people, and he does not exactly have space to stretch out. All in all, then, he should not be expecting to sleep well tonight.

Somehow, though, he is. And, sure enough, he _does_.

He wakes up only once, at another horrific vision of his little sister sending Madi and Clarke to fight to the death. And he lies there, panting, in the darkness, and buries his face in the softness of Clarke's hair.

"Shh, shh." She whispers sleepily into his chest, rubbing soothing fingers over the exposed skin of his lower back. "You're OK, I've got you. Go back to sleep."

He doesn't take orders from Clarke Griffin, of course. But just once in a while, he has been known to take on board _suggestions_ from her. So it is that he closes his eyes willingly enough and lets her calm breathing lull him back into sleep.

When he resurfaces again he can hear the morning getting started outside the door of their dorm, and in a rush he realises that he cannot remember the last time he slept so soundly or so late. Clarke is already wide awake, he can hear it in her breathing and feel it in the way she wriggles in his embrace as one of her arms seeks better purchase around his waist, and the other hand reaches up to twist curls of his hair around her fingers.

She doesn't mean it to be a sexual gesture, of this much he is certain. Clearly she is just reassuring herself that he's still there. She has been quite plain about the fact that she finds their current situation uncomfortable and confusing to say the least, and he's sure she wouldn't mean to complicate things by deliberately getting him turned on first thing in the morning.

But his luck is crap on a good day, of course, so that's exactly what she's gone and done whether she meant it or not. He takes a careful breath and rocks his hips away from her slightly. If there's one thing he can count on in this whole messed-up platonic bed sharing arrangement of theirs, it's that she's not ready to start the day with tangible evidence that she makes him feel like a curious teenage boy.

"You OK there?" He asks, hoping his lighthearted tone disguises his discomfort.

"Yeah." She pulls back just far enough to look up and meet his eyes. "Just appreciating the haircut. I know it's a silly thing, but you look more like _you_ than you did when we landed."

"You look exactly the same." He murmurs, permitting himself just for a moment the liberty of tangling a wave of her shining hair about his fingers. It's something he's imagined doing for years, and judging by her current occupation he reckons it's not entirely off limits.

"I don't. I look thinner and older and more sad."

He seriously contemplates, for one heady moment, telling her she still looks just as beautiful. But he's pretty sure that's too big a step even for a morning that involves comparing haircuts whilst staring into each other's eyes.

"You still look how I remember you." He says at last. "All this blond hair and those fierce eyes. _Sad_ isn't a physical feature, Clarke, it's just an expression you sometimes wear."

She gives him a damp smile at that, but then she sits up and starts getting out of bed so he's not sure whether to count that as a promising victory or a crushing defeat. He shakes his head, more than a little exasperated at himself. There is no point dwelling too long on his failure to compliment someone else's girlfriend.

He swings his feet onto the floor, and is on the point of gesturing to Clarke to throw him his jacket when he hears her shocked gasp.

"What?" He asks, wondering why she has gone so still. "What is it?"

"Don't freak out." She instructs him, which obviously doesn't help one bit. Telling someone not to freak out is a pretty good way to ensure they're going to freak out, in his experience.

"What's wrong?" He's getting rather anxious now.

"Madi's not here. Her bed is empty."

He leaps to his feet at that, and sure enough, the bunk he set his precious daughter to sleep in last night is absolutely deserted, only the rumpled bedclothes to show it has ever been occupied. He touches a hand to the sheets, and finds them cold.

"She might just be in the bathroom." He suggests, but he can hear in his own voice that he does not truly believe it.

"I'm not sure, Bellamy. I – I was awake a while before you. It's been a long bathroom visit if that's all it was. I'm so sorry, I should have wondered why it was so quiet in here. I should have -"

"You know, I'm pretty sure this one isn't your fault." He spares a moment to reassure her, but he's already searching Madi's bed and belongings. With a growing sense of dread, he realises that one or two key items are missing. "She's not in the bathroom."

"How do you know?"

"No twelve-year-old kid takes their knife collection to the bathroom."

"You let her have a _knife collection_? Did you learn nothing from Charlotte?"

"She's a very different kid from Charlotte." He tells her, a little hurt. "She just has an eating knife, and a hunting knife, and a couple of throwing knives. And she's sensible with them."

Clarke doesn't bother pointing out that running away in the middle of the night with them does not sound like such a _sensible_ use of a bunch of knives, and he is grateful for it. Instead, she asks a rather difficult question. "Where do you think she's gone?"

Normally, of course, a question would be difficult because he didn't know the answer. But on this occasion, it is all the more difficult because he does know exactly where she's gone.

"She must have heard us talking last night. She's gone to Octavia."

…...

He's too late, of course. That's the story of his life, isn't it? If he couldn't make it on time to that rocket all those years ago, it stands to reason that he wasn't going to arrive promptly enough on this occasion, either. By the time he and Clarke make it down the corridor to his sister's quarters, breathless and panicking, Madi and Octavia are already sealing a pact with their blood.

It looks like she doesn't always make such sensible choices with those knives, after all.

"Madi?" He's not sure whether it's the running or the fear that have him so shaky. "What are you doing?"

"I made an alliance with my Aunt Octavia." She informs him, as if it is the most straightforward thing in the world. "I told her that I was very sorry for trying to keep my nightblood secret, and that I was just scared. And then I said that I wanted her to see me as family rather than as a threat, and then we made a pact."

The worst thing of all is that she sounds _proud_ of herself for doing it. In this moment Bellamy realises quite abruptly that he has done his daughter a dangerous disservice. All of these stories of the heroism of his family and friends have left her with a worryingly warped worldview, and have left her thinking that this insane course of action makes perfect sense. He is about ready to weep from sheer guilt, but he forces himself to try for an impassive expression while Clarke takes over, and he rather finds himself wondering how he ever coped without her.

"Madi, you gave us a fright running off like that." It is the calming tone he remembers her using with the younger delinquents, once upon a time. "Next time you have a heroic plan, remember to run it past Bellamy or me first, yes? I think he sometimes leaves that bit out of your stories to make them more exciting, but it's important to tell someone when you're going on a mission."

"I wasn't going on a mission." Madi has a stubborn set to her jaw, apparently displeased that her decision is being greeted with concern rather than congratulations. "I was just talking to my Aunt, and I don't see why it's a big deal. I was only making a pact with Octavia to keep us safe."

"But that's my job, kid." Bellamy manages to speak up. "I worry about keeping us safe, and you just worry about being a child for a bit longer."

"She's not such a child any more. She trains with Wonkru now." Octavia informs them dispassionately.

"What?" Clarke gives voice to the question he is too shocked to ask.

"She trains with Wonkru now. Her first session starts in an hour. Enjoy your family breakfast."

With those words, it seems, they are dismissed.

…...

He wanders out of Octavia's quarters and towards the mess hall in something of a daze, and it isn't until they are about half way there that he realises Clarke is dragging him along by the hand. He disengages his fingers from hers, perhaps a little too abruptly. Those are the kind of little gestures that could put him in serious danger of dreaming of a relationship with her, once again, if he's not careful.

She gives no discernible response to his withdrawal, simply continues marching down the corridor.

"Why are you both angry with me?" Madi pipes up when the silence has grown too oppressive. "Why are you guys allowed to spend your youth saving your people but I'm not?"

"It's not as cool as all that, Madi." Clarke tells her with a sad smile. "Look, I don't think we should talk about this out in public, kid. Just go to your training today and enjoy meeting some new people, but don't make any more decisions without talking to us first, OK?

"She's not going to the training." Bellamy bites out as they arrive at the dining hall.

"I think she has to. Octavia will be suspicious or even angry if she doesn't." Clarke whispers back.

"I am here, you know." Madi informs them sharply as they queue for food.

A pause follows that remark, as they take their trays and locate a table. And Bellamy is making a concerted effort to eat, and smile, and pretend that nothing is wrong, but that festive family atmosphere he was so enjoying last night seems to have flown clean out of the window. And that's no mean feat, really, in an underground bunker that doesn't actually _have_ windows.

"So I think we have to agree that Madi's going to the training." Clarke pipes up cautiously. Bellamy has long wanted her to help parent their daughter together, of course, but in his imagination she always spent more time backing him up and less time putting her in dangerous situations.

"Absolutely not."

"I have to, Bellamy." Madi insists. "Octavia will see it as all three of us disobeying if I don't go. And you know she's already suspicious of Clarke."

He feels the ground fall away under his chair at that. "She is?"

"She's _always_ been suspicious of me." Clarke waves a hand in the air as if this is nothing, and he fights down the urge to point out that they were friends, once upon a time, on first landing all those years ago. Octavia isn't that same girl any more, has changed so much that any reminder of that time would be irrelevant. "Let's concentrate on Madi. Just don't do anything stupid today, alright?"

"I'll try." She concedes around a mouthful of porridge.

"She's going to have to do more than that. She's going to have to convince them she sucks at fighting." Bellamy insists, wondering why the two of them have not yet worked this out.

"But I don't suck at fighting. I'm great, you trained me yourself and you said that it was important that I learnt everything Lincoln taught you and -"

"I know, kid. I know. You're great, but Octavia mustn't know that, and neither must anyone from Wonkru. Because if they notice you're good with a sword _and_ you're a nightblood, some of them might try to replace Octavia with you."

"Maybe they should." Madi suggests, with all the fire of a naive adolescent.

" _Shh_." Clarke jumps in while he is still reeling in shock. "You mustn't say that, Madi, it's not safe. We have to be seen to be on her side. Didn't you just make a pact with her?"

"You keep saying things like that – she mustn't get suspicious, she must think we're on her side. You've never once said we actually have to _be_ on her side."

There is a silence so heavy that Bellamy thinks he can feel it crushing his lungs, and the words he knows he must say try to stick in his throat.

"We _are_ on her side. Of course we are. She's my sister."

The problem is, he's already established that she isn't really his sister, not any more.

…...

"That was crap advice."

Bellamy looks up from the book he is pretending to read. They have scarcely been in the dorm thirty seconds since sending Madi off to her training session, and already Clarke is criticising him for goodness only knows what. It is good to know that some things are back to normal, at least.

"What was?"

"She can't just _suck at fighting_ and hope they won't notice her, Bellamy. What about when we go to war? What then? Because you must know that war against Diyoza is the way your sister is heading the moment that eye in the sky is down."

"I know." He sighs heavily. "But I don't know what else to do. I need her to be safe."

"I get that. I've only known her a couple of days but – I need her to be safe, too."

He smiles slightly at that. "I knew you'd like her."

"She's great." Clarke sits on the bed at his side, and he gives up on the book altogether. Clearly this conversation is far from over. "We need to find a better answer to this, Bellamy. Telling her to hide her skills is only putting off the time when she'll be in danger. We need a proper solution that avoids the war altogether."

He gives a hollow laugh. "We're going to have to get rid of my sister to do that."

"No. That's not what I'm suggesting." She reassures him, with a gentle squeeze of her hand on his thigh that makes his breath stick in his throat. "We should work out why she's so keen to fight, and see what we can learn about the army. There must be something we can do to stop them going to war."

"They're Wonkru. Fighting is what they do."

"But not without a reason. There's pride at stake, sure, but that's not the whole story. I think a lot of it is that they honestly don't think they can survive anywhere other than that valley."

"They don't have the food or resources to survive here." He agrees, beginning to see where she is going.

"So we should start by checking out the hydrofarm."

He nods in agreement, but he cannot resist the opportunity to make light of this oncoming storm. "Right. Because there's a whole lot a doctor and a janitor are going to be able to do about eight hundred people starving to death."

She giggles a little, then gets to her feet, her saving-the-world face already in place. "Come on. I'm pretty sure the Commander of Death and the Hero of Mount Weather have solved harder problems than this between them, before now."

…...

They do not have an excuse, as such, for being in the hydrofarm. If anyone asks, they have decided that Clarke will claim Monty taught her a bit about farming in space, and that she was simply curious and wanted to see how things worked round here.

"That won't sound suspicious at all." Bellamy mutters with a heavy dose of sarcasm. "Why can I not convince either of you to take Octavia seriously as a threat?"

"I am taking her seriously." Clarke reassures him. "I just think that we need to do this anyway. I'm willing to put myself in harm's way if it means we don't fight a war over the last green land on the planet."

"Well I'm not."

"Don't lie to me." She sounds angry, and he cannot entirely see why. "You went and climbed a damn comms tower while the world was burning. Don't try to convince me you're not the most stupidly heroic self-sacrificing _idiot_ who ever walked the Earth."

"I meant that I wasn't willing to put _you_ in harm's way." He tells her smartly.

"I think it's my turn."

"That's not how it works." He says, beginning to feel frightened tears gather in his eyes at the flippant attitude she is taking to her own safety. "Please, Clarke, take care."

She looks up at that, and apparently he is not being very discrete about his emotional state. He gathers this from the way she gives him a sympathetic smile and leans into his shoulder a little as they walk.

"OK. I will. But you had better not take any stupid risks either."

"Noted." He nods, once.

She sighs, loud and long, and he begins to suspect that he will not like what is coming next.

"Do you ever think about what it would have been like, if you'd made it back in time?"

He snorts, so loudly a young woman at the opposite end of the corridor turns to seek out the source of the noise. "What do you think?"

"Sorry. Stupid question. I just – you must, right? Do you think we'd have ended up like Monty and Harper?" He rather wonders what happened to their resolution of yesterday that there is no point dwelling on _what-ifs_ , but he's a bit of an impulsive guy so he answers the question regardless.

"I don't know. I've not actually spoken to them yet." She jumps a little at that, evidently shocked at his revelation.

"Really?"

"Yeah. You never bothered to ask if I wanted to."

"Sorry. I – it was a lot to deal with, when we first landed." He makes a humming noise of agreement, and she moves back to her previous question. He is almost disappointed, really, because he hoped she might share something more about her state of mind on first seeing that he'd survived, but he supposes that this is at least personal, even if it is not productive. "Do you think we'd have ended up like Murphy and Emori?"

"What, the breaking up bit, or the getting back together again?"

"Both. Either."

"I can't imagine myself ever breaking up with you if we got the chance to be together." He tells her, in a mad moment of honesty he is pretty sure he will regret later. He clenches his hand into a fist, annoyed with himself for that lapse of self-control, and moves the conversation onward as smoothly as he can. "I think we'd be more like Miller and Jackson."

"What do you mean? They look miserable."

"OK, not the miserable bit. Obviously it's been horrible in here. But the way that, however much has gone wrong, they're still stuck together like glue. I see them together every single mealtime, and I saw Jackson walk past Octavia's door the other day just because Miller was on duty. And then yesterday I saw Miller give Jackson a hug when he looked _broken_ at the end of his shift. And you can just see that whatever the world throws at them, they're better together."

She is silent for the longest moment of his life, and he grows increasingly convinced that he has said too much. This was supposed to be a lighthearted game of hypotheticals, he remembers, and a vague attempt to get to know one another once again. He was not meant to deliver an impassioned monologue on the kind of relationship he wants to have with her.

At last, she speaks, and the words she chooses catch him by surprise. "I think we'd argue more. Or... disagree, like we always have done. And I think you'd tell me more bad jokes. But yeah, apart from that, you might not be far wrong."

His head is still spinning when they arrive at the hydrofarm several minutes later.

…...

There is nothing useful to be learnt from the hydrofarm – or, at least, that is Bellamy's take on it. He expresses as much to Clarke, but she disagrees with him in that particularly spirited way he has missed so much.

"You're wrong. The very fact that there's almost nothing alive here is valuable to us. It proves what we already suspected – Octavia's desperate."

"They'll be starving within weeks." He confirms, beginning to see what she's getting at.

"They'll be starving within _days_. This farm would never have produced enough surplus to stockpile much spare food. Those supplies Diyoza tried to bribe us with have bought a couple more days, but no more."

"Octavia has no choice but to go to war." He concludes sadly.

Clarke raises her brows at him, and begins to show him what he should have seen sooner. "There's always a choice. She could cut a deal with them, Bellamy, find some way to share the valley. Even surrendering has to be better than annihilating her entire population."

"Not in her view." He points out. "Not the way she's acting at the minute."

"So we need to find a way to convince her that making a deal is a better idea than fighting."

"Yeah." He agrees. "We either need to make a deal look like a great option – difficult, because Diyoza _isn't_ a great option, or make fighting look like it's not an option."

"My thoughts exactly." She confirms, with a nod.

It's stupid, of course, because they're standing in the middle of a dead hydrofarm wondering how to convince his little sister not to go to war, but Bellamy is pretty certain he hasn't been this happy in _years_. This is what he missed, all that time Clarke was gone. This easy back-and-forth, the near-constant reading of each other's thoughts, the occasional completing of each other's sentences.

Before he can overthink it, he engulfs her in a firm hug.

She hugs him right back. Of course she does - they've remembered how to hug again, these last couple of days. And she doesn't pull away when he starts to loosen his arms a little, but simply rests her head over his heart, and he knows that she's listening out for that steady rhythm that reminds her he's still not dead.

"What was that for?" She asks, a smile in her voice.

"It's good to have you back. You know – _really_ back. Saving the day together, and all that."

"It's good to be _really_ back." She tells him, with one last squeeze around his waist before she pulls away.

"Do you think we could find out anything about _why_ everything died?" He asks, rather out of his depth on the theme of agriculture. "Would that be useful? Has anyone said anything to you about what went wrong here?"

"Kane alluded to a problem with the food supply a couple of years ago but he wouldn't give me any details. He just said it would have been better if they'd starved, and I didn't know what he meant."

"God, that sounds bad." He shakes his head, but gets on with searching for clues all the same. There is nothing he can do, now, about some mysterious years-old horror.

"I think it _was_ bad, Bellamy. My mum – I don't know what's wrong with her. And I don't know why she hasn't been in touch."

He watches in some concern as she lifts up tools seemingly at random. He's not sure how she'll avert a war with a pair of pruning sheers, but if anyone can do it, he's pretty sure it's Clarke Griffin.

"She seemed to be experiencing some kind of acute psychological distress, but there were physical symptoms, too. I can't make sense of it. And why wouldn't Kane tell me anything?"

"Because he's ridiculously loyal to your mum." He points out, reaching a hand over to still hers where it plays with the sheers. "I know you're upset about this, Clarke, and I get it. I really do. But can we maybe talk it out later in the dorm, and concentrate on the sharp tool for now?"

She rolls her eyes at him slightly, and heads towards a door in the far wall.

"What are you doing?" He asks, although he's not sure why he bothers any more. Sticking by her side as she ploughs headfirst into trouble is his calling in life, after all.

"Seeing if we can learn anything useful." She tells him with that half smile he has missed so much.

Then, to his horror, she starts whacking the control panel at the side of the door with the handle of the pruning sheers.

"And again, what the hell are you doing, Clarke? You can't open a door with pruning sheers."

"Just watch me." She grins. "I learnt a thing or two from Raven, all those years on the Ring."

She has, by now, succeeded in destroying the outer shell of the control panel, and has revealed a mess of wires. And then without further ado, she slices through a bundle of wires with the sheers.

To his amazement, the door slides open.

"What -? How did you -?"

"These doors are based on electromagnets. Cut off the power supply and they fail. Pretty poor design, huh? Now let's see what Octavia doesn't want us to find."


	10. Chapter nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this one! It's very fluffy, apart from the oncoming storm of war...
> 
> Thanks to Stormkpr for betaing!

The reason why this room was hidden behind a locked door becomes abundantly clear almost the moment they set foot past the threshold. There are a bunch of small incubators, filled with eggs Bellamy does not much care to identify. There are enough glass jars and tanks to hold a small army – which is exactly what he fears his little sister might have planned. And then, towards the back of the room, there are the human test subjects. Giant glass tanks, not unlike that chamber he remembers watching Clarke smash back on that island before the world burned. And inside them are the bodies of his sister's fallen warriors.

Then one of the bodies moves, and he gasps in shock. Clarke lets out a little mewing noise quite unlike anything he has ever heard from her before, and he is on the point of reaching out to try to offer her some comfort when the situation grows, unbelievably, even worse. Out of the stomach of the nearest corpse – no, _person_ – a tangled cluster of worms erupt, a writhing mass, bodies twisting and untwisting over and over in some sick display of life amidst death.

He chokes on thin air, and wonders how the young woman he raised could ever be capable of _this_.

"We have to help them." Clarke mutters, coherent despite her shock. "We have to – to kill them. Give them a merciful death."

He nods, stony-faced. How is it that, whatever they do, it always seems to come back to this, to the two of them deciding who lives and who dies?

"It's the only way." She continues. "They'll never recover from this, and they must be in agony."

"Yeah." He agrees. "Yeah, you're right. I'll do it."

He sets out towards the nearest tank, slides his hands into the gloves and wonders what it will be likes to watch someone die with his hands wringing their neck.

"No. Not yet. We need a plan for what else we're going to do. How we're going to cover our tracks."

"No we don't." He is rather confident that he has it right, for once, and she has it wrong. "We need to end these people's pain, then we worry about covering our own backsides."

With that, he sets about getting on with quite the grimmest chore of his rather grim life. It takes a frighteningly short time to kill the three people who are still barely clinging to breath. It is so much easier, somehow, than he thought it would be all those years ago when he stared down at Atom's blistered face. _Easier_ in as much as it presents no logistical challenges – it is still distinctly difficult from an emotional point of view.

Job done, he walks back to Clarke's side, pretending for all the world like _job done_ is an acceptable way to think about ending three lives. But he has to think like that, has to use his head instead of his heart for once, because if he allows himself to sit about and mourn they will never find a way to stop this war, and they will, therefore, never stop mourning.

"Do you think Octavia knows about this?" He asks, and the too many syllables of that blasted name he chose try to stick in his throat, but he cannot call her _O_ today. Not when he has just witnessed this.

"I don't know." Clarke shakes her head in confusion, and Bellamy decides that confusion is not a good look on her. "How could she? It's monstrous."

"We're talking about a woman who makes people fight to the death if they defy her, Clarke."

She hums a little, walks over to a tank of eggs. Stops a careful arm's length away, even though the tank is sealed. "Whether she knows or not doesn't change anything. We need to get rid of these, and not just because this human testing is barbaric, and she'll only do it again if we leave any worms behind. But also because if she doesn't have them as a weapon, it harms her chances of winning the war. It helps us make surrender look like a better deal."

"You're right. No biological weapon, no easy victory."

"There must be some kind of fail-safe here." She suggests, searching the walls. "No one would breed these things without some way to kill them all if they got out of hand."

"But we need to make it look like an accident. You heard what Madi said earlier, Octavia doesn't trust you already." He points out, his worry rather getting the better of him. "We can't give her another reason to suspect you, you've seen what she -"

"Bellamy. Stop. I'm OK for now, alright? Now help me work out what we're going to do." She spares him a half smile before getting back on with scouring the walls.

Clarke's hunch turns out to have been right – no surprises there, Bellamy thinks with a wry grin. The room is equipped with a safety feature in the form of gas to suffocate the worms if they get out of hand. With a sickening twist of his gut, he acknowledges that it could easily have been used to keep the human incubators in line, too, if any of them tried to struggle.

"This is great news." Clarke informs him as she reads the panel beneath the safety switch. Bellamy is struggling to see it that way, he has to admit. It all reminds him uncannily of trying to shut down that acid fog in Mount Weather, and he has spent the last six and half years trying to avoid being reminded of that at all costs.

"So we can kill the things, but we still need to work out how to make it look like an accident."

"That's the great news. This gas doesn't just kill things – it's the same gas you'd find in a fire extinguisher."

"So we can just blow it up." At least this time, the echoes of Mount Weather do not hurt quite so much.

"Maybe not _blow it up_. We don't want to damage the hydrofarm. But set fire to it, yeah. I'm thinking if we can make it look like it started at the door with an electrical fault, we can disguise our break-in as well."

He stares at her for a moment, suddenly uncomfortable.

"You're starting to sound like Raven. It's – it surprised me, is all." She looks sad at that, and spares a moment to squeeze his hand. It's the first time he's touched a human being since he strangled those three test subjects, and he holds on a little longer than is strictly appropriate, trying desperately to cling on to the warmth of _life_.

"I'm still me, though. You told me that only yesterday."

…...

Their luck holds, while they douse the room in just enough stolen fuel to encourage the flames. It holds, too, while they set the room burning and watch it catch from the safety of the door, and holds when they press the safety switch and see the fire smartly extinguished.

Their luck runs out very abruptly, though, when they see Octavia striding through the hydrofarm with a clutch of guards.

"It must have been alarmed." Clarke mutters under her breath. "Of course it was alarmed. Stupid, stupid -"

"Hey." Bellamy steps closer to her side, makes a point of standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her to face what comes next. "It was a good plan. Chin up."

And then their luck only gets worse, when Octavia notes that it is them and does not even seem surprised. She really must have her suspicions, Bellamy frets, if she does not appear to find it shocking that her own brother is standing outside a smouldering wreckage.

"Big brother." He reckons that it's conventional to inject a little _warmth_ into a greeting like that, but she has apparently decided he doesn't deserve it.

"Octavia."

"Are you going to tell me why you're at the scene of this crime?"

"Crime?" Clarke steps in, speaking with her usual confident authority. "There's no crime here, Octavia. We just saved the hydrofarm from burning. When we got here that room there was on _fire_."

"You needn't have bothered saving it. It's dead anyway." Octavia tells them coldly. "Forgive me if I find your story a little suspicious. What were you doing here?"

"Like you said, the hydrofarm is dying. I learnt a thing or two from Monty on the Ring, I wanted to take a look and see whether there was anything I could do." Clarke says, with every appearance of calm.

"There you go again." Octavia scoffs. "Clarke Griffin, expert in everything. Saving the world, one hydrofarm at a time. Tell me, was the door wide open like that when you got here?"

"Yes, it was." Clarke's voice is measured. "And a lot of smoke coming from the control panel. Looks like there was some electrical fault with the door."

Octavia stares at her for one never-ending moment, and Bellamy genuinely believes he might vomit. She's about to send Clarke to the pit, he can feel it, and then Madi will surely follow, and then his nightmares will become flesh and blood and so much blood that -

"I see." Octavia's cold voice penetrates his increasingly panicked thoughts. "Just as well we already had everything we need from that room packed upstairs. I'd take care, if I were you, Clarke, big brother. I might start to get suspicious if you're found near any more _electrical faults_ in the future."

With that, she turns and stalks back out of the hydrofarm, her loyal retinue hot on her heels.

Bellamy breathes very carefully until she is out of sight, and curls the withered vine of a nearby tomato plant round his fingers for something to do. It is for the best, he reckons, if any of his sister's followers who might chance to look back at them should see him ostensibly taking an interest in the crops they are supposedly here to see.

The moment they have left, he engulfs Clarke in a forceful hug.

She hugs him back, hard, but all the same he can hear confusion in her voice when she speaks. "What's this about?"

"I thought she was going to arrest you. The way she was looking at you – I thought you were going to the pit."

"I'm OK, Bellamy. I'm fine." As if to prove her point, she snakes a hand up to stroke her warm fingers against the sensitive skin at the back of his neck. "See? Still here."

"Still not dead." He agrees, with a self-conscious sigh. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overreact. It's just – a lot of my nightmares start out just like that, since we opened this damn bunker."

"I get that. Some of mine do, too. Sometimes you're being taken away by someone, sometimes you're stuck somewhere and I can't get to you."

"I'll try not to let that happen."

"Please." She agrees, head still nestled against his chest.

He knows he cannot stay like this all day. It wouldn't be right, he reminds himself, while she loves someone else. Not that there is anything inherently romantic about hugging, of course, but he's pretty convinced that _this_ kind of hugging took a sharp detour out of platonic territory about the time she started tangling her fingers in the hair at the back of his neck. He therefore pulls away, and sees his own relieved smile mirrored on her lips.

"Come on." He suggests. "Let's go enjoy the afternoon as best we can."

"Not arrested yet. Not at war yet. I'd say we almost deserve to do something _fun_."

He gives a grudging laugh at that. "I'm not so sure about _fun_. Not while Madi's pretending to be crap at fighting and we might march to war any day in a valley where all your friends and family are. But we could hang out in the dorm and see if we can get through to your mum or Raven and Echo on the radio?"

"That sounds like a plan." She agrees, already walking towards the door with the faintest hint of a spring in her step.

Then she throws a glance back at him over her shoulder, as if wondering why he has not caught up with her yet. And he sees the moment that she catches sight of the burnt-out room behind him, sees her eyes go cold with sorrow.

Yes. He was right - _fun_ is still some way off.

…...

Bellamy is very aware that Clarke has been carrying around a radio ever since Raven left. He notices everything about the woman so, yeah, he's certainly not missed the bulky handset protruding from her jacket pocket. But he's been trying very hard not to think about it, uncomfortable with the parallel between Clarke's desperate desire to hear from Raven now and the way he carted around that radio to speak to Clarke all those years.

But, yeah, he knows she's got a radio on her anyway, so he's a bit surprised when she insists on going to engineering. She explains that the handset will be closer to the transmitter there, which might help, and that there is a laser-comm she might try getting through to them on as well, but he's pretty convinced it's a waste of their time. He's almost certain that the reason they have not heard from Raven and Echo and Abby has nothing to do with technology and quite a lot to do with politics.

All the same, he does understand her need to keep trying. It would be pretty damn hypocritical of him not to, wouldn't it? So it is that he agrees to a visit to engineering, and walks willingly enough down the corridor at her side.

He was right, it turns out. OK, sure, they don't actually _know_ that politics is what's stopping them, but he's even more convinced that the problem is not a technical one, by the time Clarke has tried four different communication devices inside of an hour with no response. His heart breaks for her. Really, it does, even more than it breaks for himself at this evidence of how utterly devoted she is to someone who's _not him_. But it is beyond horrible watching the hope fade in her eyes with each silent minute that passes.

He knows how that feels.

He leaves her to it, in the end. He's on the point of crying himself, or maybe punching something, and it doesn't seem like a good moment to interrupt in order to take her up on that offer of a chat or a hug. So it is that he paces the corridor outside engineering and tries desperately to think of some way to help her out.

He's not going to be able to help her out with talking to Raven. So much is obvious – there is simply nothing to be done on that front. And he can't do much, either, to help her with six years of mourning and guilt. But maybe, he hopes, as he takes in the open door of a store room, he might be able to help her to remember who she is. Because there, sitting on a shelf at head height as if the universe placed it there for him to find, is a stack of notebooks.

He casts a furtive glimpse over his shoulder, then stuffs a couple of them into his pocket. Grabs a few pencils, too, then retreats silently back to engineering. He likes to think his sister wouldn't put him to death over a handful of stationery, but he's not entirely sure, after what he's seen in recent days.

"Clarke?" She has started crying openly since he left, and he feels immediately guilty for abandoning her.

"Bellamy? I – I didn't notice you leave but then you were gone. I'm sorry, I'm being silly."

He places a gentle hand on her shoulder, squeezes slightly. "You're the least silly person I know. I'm sorry I wasn't here, but I found something you could do this afternoon that might be a bit... healthier than sitting here getting anxious about Raven and Echo and your mum."

The moment he reveals the notebooks, her eyes light up. She reaches out for them, all eagerness, but then she freezes abruptly and pulls away again.

"What happened to trying to stop a war, Bellamy? I'm not going to stop a war by _drawing_."

"I don't know. I'm pretty sure we'll stop this war by you being on top form. If drawing is going to help you relax and look after yourself, it might help us stop the war."

She frowns at him for a moment, but he can already see that he's won.

"You're telling me that one woman doing some drawing might stop this war?"

"Yeah. That's exactly what I'm telling you." If anyone can achieve peace through sketching, he's pretty sure it's Clarke.

"You're mad. Come on, let's go draw."

…...

Bellamy has no intention of drawing, of course. He intends to watch Clarke draw, and chat with her, and maybe read a book.

That's not quite how it turns out.

"I don't know what to draw." She tells him, a puzzled crease to her brow, as she sits on her bed and pats the blanket by her side in a clear invitation. "On the Ring I used to draw you a lot, and Wells and Finn and Lexa and my dad and everyone else we lost. But – I don't know if I want to draw that today."

"I used to tell stories about the people we lost, too. But mostly I used to tell stories about the people I hoped were still alive."

"You mean you used to tell stories about me."

"Yeah." He doesn't even bother denying it, and is rewarded with a small smile. "But Madi liked that, so that's my excuse."

He watches her twirl a pencil in her fingers, and is struck by a sudden idea.

"We could make her a story book, or a memory book. She always said that it sucked that she had no idea what any of you looked like. I'd try to describe everyone, but it wasn't the same."

"You mean I could draw, and you could write the stories?" She sounds interested in the idea.

"Yeah."

"That sounds like a plan."

It is, he's pretty sure, the first time in his entire life that she's ever agreed to a plan of his without so much as a single word of complaint. He's not complaining either, though, because there's something wonderfully _domestic_ about sitting here and watching her draw, and about collaborating with her on choosing the stories to share with their daughter. _Their daughter_? He didn't mean to say that. _His_ _daughter_ , he must remember that.

Only it's quite difficult to remember that, as they sit here and laugh about Jasper and Monty's antics back at the dropship, or reminisce about Miller's much-loved beanie, or recall that time Jaha woke up on a mattress in the middle of the lake at Arkadia. Now that they are putting a little time into thinking about it, Bellamy is forced to acknowledge that there are quite a lot of happy memories he shares with Clarke and with the rest of their friends. That, alongside the battle for survival, they've found plenty of moments to enjoy being alive.

They include some more serious stories, too, of course, and Bellamy insists that they ought not edit them too much. Madi may only be a child, but in this dangerous world he firmly believes that even a child needs to know the unvarnished truth. So it is that they include mention of the bone marrow drilling at Mount Weather, and of ALIE's assault on the free will of the human race. But even when the subject is no laughing matter, Bellamy still finds that this is quite the best afternoon of his life – or at least the best afternoon of the last six years. And, sure, maybe that has something to do with the way that Clarke is leaning into his side, and with the smile that she shoots up at him every now and then, and with the soft fingers she brushes against his palm every time she passes him a pencil. But there is something even more special about the idea that they are building a story together, for Madi, just like he always dreamed they would.

Of course, this happy bubble of domestic bliss does not last for ever. Such bubbles tend to burst pretty abruptly in the path of an oncoming war, he has found.

So it is that Madi walks into the room and sours his mood with one well-chosen sentence.

"Octavia has chosen me as her second."

He chokes on thin air for a moment, and is saved by Clarke's calm voice. "Come in and sit down, Madi. Shut the door as well. And then tell us exactly what happened?" She closes the notebook gently, sets it carefully to one side. And then she sits, attentive to his daughter, but somehow still leaning her reassuring warmth against his side.

Madi takes a seat next to Clarke, and he finds himself wishing that they'd had what is, in effect, their first family hug in rather happier circumstances.

"It's like I said this morning – she has to trust us and think we're on her side, but we don't have to actually be on her side." She says, and Bellamy does not think it a very auspicious beginning. "And I wasn't very good at _sucking_ , you taught me too well, Bellamy. So I wasn't convincing anyone, I was just getting funny looks. So then Octavia came to watch us and I just got on with being me. Anyway, she was really impressed, and asked if I would be her second. And I thought that sounded like a great idea – it'll convince her I'm loyal, and I might learn useful things about how your friends are getting on, Clarke, or when we can go home to the valley. Or – or maybe how to stop the war."

"Again, Madi – _that's my job_." Bellamy reminds her, exasperated beyond belief, terrified beyond even that.

"But I think it'll be easier for me to get close to her. She wants to keep me close to check I'm not her enemy, and she already doesn't trust you and Clarke. So I'm more likely to learn useful things. I tried to really sell it and make it look like I was having a bit of a teenage rebellion, told her that you protected me too much and I wanted more freedom." She reaches round Clarke to embrace him, then, and yes, this is definitely a family hug now. "In case it comes up, that's not true. I mean, you do try to protect me too much. But _ai hod yu in_."

He tries not to cry at that, and is not entirely successful, as he awkwardly holds both of them close. " _Ai ho yu in_ , too, kid. And I don't like this but – I guess you've done it now."

"You're not angry?"

"I'm furious. But mostly with Octavia for putting you in that situation. And – I'm practising using my head, because I know Clarke likes it when I do that." He forces himself to adopt a light tone, tells himself that losing his temper with Madi will achieve nothing. A wise general knows when to admit defeat and try again another day – he's not claiming he's the wisest general in the world, of course, but occasionally he likes to borrow a little of Clarke's wisdom.

Clarke smiles up at him, rewards him with a squeeze of her arm around his waist. "We'll make this work." She reassures the both of them. "You just take care, Madi, OK? I think you were probably right to agree to that today, Octavia would have been suspicious if you made a fuss. But you tell us everything that you learn and don't make any decisions without us, yeah?"

"Of course I'm going to tell you everything that I learn." Madi rolls her eyes. "I learnt that they already packed a load of worm eggs into a rover, so you burning the trials room didn't make a difference. No one has _said_ that you burnt it, but everyone knows it was you, if you know what I mean? That was about it for the day."

He sighs deeply. They already knew all that, but that doesn't make it any more pleasant to hear it said aloud.

As if she has read his thoughts, Clarke pastes on a smile and reaches around Madi for the notebook. "There's nothing we can do about that now, Madi. Let's show you what we made this afternoon."

Madi is delighted by the story book. Of course she is – Bellamy suspects that she has been dreaming of owning such an item since the day he first taught her Clarke's _name_. But it seems, now that she has all the maturity of a tyrant's second, that she is thrilled less by the compilation of her favourite tales and more by what it implies about their status as a family.

"You really made this for me?" She wonders aloud as she turns to a drawing of Arkadia going up in flames mere weeks before Praimfaiya. "You two spent the afternoon on doing this for _me_?"

"I figured I owed you six years of drawings." Clarke says with a carefully casual air, and Bellamy does not miss the fact that she still has an arm around Madi's shoulder.

"Thank you." Madi scrubs a hand across her damp eyes, in a gesture he recognises all too easily as having been learnt from him.

There is an awed pause, as she turns the page and reads about the final conclave. And then she inhales slowly, and Bellamy prepares himself for whatever is coming next.

"I'm pleased you two did this." Madi frowns, rephrases her comment a little. "It's good that you had time to catch up with each other again. I was worried that you'd keep arguing and there would be a war. Because in Bellamy's stories there's always a war when you two argue."

Clarke gives an audible sigh. "You're right, Madi. Things do go better when we're on the same side. I'm – I'm sorry we argued when I first got here. I was taken by surprise and I didn't handle things very well. I'm sorry you had to see it."

"I'm sorry." Bellamy steps in to shoulder his share of the blame. "I shouldn't have given you those expectations, Madi, and I should have been more patient with Clarke."

"You're as bad as each other." Madi reprimands them, giggling through the remains of her tears. "Stop feeling guilty and get on with being happy to have each other back."

Now that, he thinks, is some pretty mature advice for a twelve-year-old.

…...

They follow that advice very carefully for the remainder of the day. He has to admit that looking happy is taking him a bit more effort than he'd like, distracted as he is by this latest threat to his daughter, but he does his best to paste on a smile and laugh in all the right places.

He is helped in that regard, of course, by Madi herself. She informs them over supper that a reprise of the cup game will be required, and suggests that instead of drinking they might have silly forfeits for the losers. So it is that, before the evening is out, Clarke has done an impression of a bear, and Bellamy has made chicken noises, and Madi is grinning from ear to ear.

"This was great." She tells them as she climbs into bed. "This was exactly how I hoped it would be, all those years we had to wait for you, Clarke."

There is a loaded pause, in which Clarke opens and closes her mouth several times without making a sound.

And then Madi brings them all back down to Earth with a crash. "Apart from the whole war thing, I guess."

"There's not going to be a war, Madi." Bellamy informs her, tone firm. "No way am I letting anyone go to war in that valley, but especially not _you_. We'll find a way to stop Octavia, I promise."

It isn't until his daughter has nodded, and said goodnight, and pulled the blankets up around her ears that he realises something. It's not Octavia he's supposed to be stopping. It's the _war_. And he's not sure, really, when his little sister became synonymous with _war_ but he doesn't like it. He doesn't like it at all.

And the worst thing of all, of course, is the truth of it. The more he looks at the situation, the more he grows convinced that, were it not for her, they would have long since signed a peace treaty and moved back home. Madi would be teaching the Wonkru novitiates how to use their weapons for good, taking them out hunting in Shallow Valley and returning laden down with prey. Clarke would be drawing, and making plans for the future of their people, and remembering who she is. And Raven and Echo and Abby would be safe, and well, and that would only add to the happiness of the people he cares about the most.

He shakes his head, hoping to dislodge that stray thought. There is no way his sister is going to step down, and no way he could possibly contemplate suggesting anything more drastic than that.

As if she has read his thoughts, Clarke appears at his side, her warm fingers resting in the crook of his elbow.

"What's the plan now?" She asks softly, and he giggles like a child.

"Aren't you supposed to be the one who makes the plans?" He bounces the question back at her, exuberance temporarily winning out over his concern for his daughter. It's been like this all day, somehow, this tiresome tangle of joy and worry, and he's finding it a bit exhausting, really.

"I'd love to stay up and chat with you and carry on catching up." She tells him, sounding almost nervous. "But I'm pretty exhausted and I figure while we have the chance to sleep well we should make the most of it."

"Whatever you want." He agrees with a smile, because that seems easier than telling her that he is experiencing exactly the same clash of priorities. Maybe it makes him deceitful, but he's sort of hoping for a middle ground, some kind of early night combined with extended pillow talk situation.

He forces himself not to dwell on that idea and bends his steps to the bathroom instead. And he finds himself noticing something rather interesting, as he takes in that flaw in the concrete that was once on the receiving end of his frustration.

He doesn't want to punch it, tonight. There's not even the vague sense preying at the edge of his consciousness that it might be an idea worth considering. It's just not at all tempting, right now, and that thought has a smile breaking out across his face all over again. Because yeah, sure, he's worried sick about Madi, but somehow he finds that he feels rather more able to cope with his concern than he did only this morning.

It's a bit weird, he thinks, to be healing like this in the face of a war.

Keen to get back to Clarke, he uses the bathroom then strides back down the corridor, opens the door and takes in the scene before him.

Clarke has found a nightdress, presumably just now while he was smiling at that stupid patch of wall. And yeah, sure, it's not exactly the world's most revealing nightdress – it is, in fact, a distinctly utilitarian garment. And he's pretty certain she must have borrowed it from her mother, and the thought that his jaw is dropping at an article of clothing borrowed from the former chancellor should be enough to douse him in a good-sized shower of cold water. But in his defence, he's not seen a beautiful woman wearing anything less than head-to-toe clothing in six years, so he suspects it's going to take him a moment to get his mind out of the metaphorical gutter.

It reminds him so much of the rather minimalist outfit she was wearing all those years ago, when she came to his room on Becca's island and twisted her fingers in that satin and told him about an impossible choice. And she's doing the same thing, now, clutching at the cloth in that way that he's beginning to understand is her way of telling him that, actually, she _can't_ tell him everything that's on her mind, right now. That the words are stuck in her throat, and he's just going to have to fill in the blanks for her.

"You look nice." He tries to keep his tone brotherly, chastises himself for imagining even for a second that he has any right to run his eyes over her body while she's dressed like this. "Did you borrow that from your mum?"

She nods, eyes swimming. "She wasn't there. I knew she wouldn't be there, of course I did. And anyway, I'm angry with her for just leaving." She is evidently trying to convince herself as much as him.

"But you're still worried about her?" He suggests, daring to walk over and reach out for her hand.

She nods again, tears spilling over.

"Clarke, that's OK. You don't have to have it all worked out. I think it's pretty understandable if you're confused right now." He takes a deep breath, prepares for a difficult bit of honesty. " _I'm_ confused right now."

He doesn't have to expand on that. He can see in the look in her eyes that she knows exactly what he means. She offers him a brave smile, and moves towards her bed. And then she pulls back the covers, and climbs in, and gestures to the space she leaves at her side.

He doesn't think he'll ever get used to sharing her bed like this. And he certainly won't get used to it if she keeps borrowing damn nightdresses, however utilitarian they might be. Wordlessly he gets into the bed at her side, but he doesn't reach out for her. He can't, not quite yet. He needs a moment to get a hold of himself, a minute to remember how to breathe in her presence.

"Bellamy?"

"Yeah?"

"You doing alright?"

He hums a little, but does not answer. He wouldn't like to lie to her, but there's no way he can explain everything that's going through his mind right now.

"Want to tell me how you're dealing with Octavia making Madi her second?" Clarke gives him a gentle metaphorical prod.

"Not well." He admits. This, at least, he can talk to her about in perfect honesty. "I hate that she was there actually doing the dirty work while I sat around writing stories."

"Hey, none of that." She chastises him, stroking his shoulder to soften the blow. "You told me this afternoon that me drawing might stop the war. If that's true, then you telling stories is definitely how we get to peace."

He snorts. He cannot help it, but her words are ridiculous.

"Don't be like that, Bellamy. I've told you before, your words inspire people. Your words have changed the world before now, and your stories definitely inspire Madi to work for peace."

"I never looked at it like that." He acknowledges, rather wondering how he is supposed to go back to pretending not to be in love with this woman when Raven reappears on the scene. It's going to be nigh on impossible, he thinks, if she carries on like this with the finger skimming his collarbone and with _your words inspire people_.

She shuffles a little closer, and he gives up for the day on pretending that there is anything platonic about the situation. He simply wraps his arms around her, and embraces the potential for awkwardness. But he'll get back to trying not to love her too obviously tomorrow, of course he will. She is Raven's girlfriend, and he will remember it well.

"I'm sorry we didn't get through to Raven." He says, hoping that the apology will assuage the guilt he feels for making the most of his friend's absence.

Clarke goes still in his arms, her finger apparently hitting a stumbling block on its travels along the sensitive skin in the crook of his neck. "It's not your fault. I just hope she's OK."

For an horrific moment, he imagines that it _is_ his fault. That his wishing Raven would just clear out of the way so he could love Clarke guilt-free has somehow culminated in her untimely death out there. But then he forces himself to think, remembers to use his head. If anything does happen to Raven out there, it will not be because of any confused desire of his. It will be _politics_ , he reminds himself, as he established only this afternoon.

"I'm sure she is." He lies kindly. "I'm sure that she's getting on with the mission, only can't talk for some reason. And Echo will do a great job of looking out for her."

"Yeah." Clarke sounds utterly unconvinced, and he curses himself for upsetting her. Recalling the way she seems to need physical contact when she's upset, he pulls her a little closer and presses his cheek against the top of her hair.

"I'm OK." She pipes up, as if working out what he's trying to do. "Really, I'm coping with it. But could you tell me something distracting?"

"Something distracting?"

"Yeah. A story?" She asks, rearranging herself a little and stretching out into a more comfortable position. "About Madi? Or one of those stories about the Greeks and Romans you liked as a kid?"

He hesitates for a moment, partly distracted by the warmth of her bare shoulder beneath his palm, partly wondering what story might be suitable as a cheerful distraction at a time like this. How can she possibly expect some childish tale of ancient heroes to keep her mind off the physical distance between her and her lover, and the emotional distance that, he has to admit, still exists between her and her closest friend? How can any fictional happy ending make her feel better about this situation which has no end in sight?

It comes to him then, all at once, the perfect story for her imperfect homecoming. The tale he should have told the moment she landed, to show her that he gets that happily ever after is sometimes a messy, much-twisted thing.

"Let me tell you about Odysseus." He murmurs, and he feels her relax almost at once. "They called him the man of many twists and turns, and with good reason. This is the story of how he was gone half a lifetime, and missed his kid growing up. But most of all, it's a story about how he came home."

He tells her everything, every tiny detail, even though she drifts into sleep before he is more than four minutes in. He tells her about the monsters he met along the way – sightless sleeping giants, great warriors who feasted on human flesh. He tells her about the harshness of storms, and about the fresh green grass of home. He is not afraid to mention the lovers along the way, and he does not shy away, either, from the blood, nor from the fighting, nor from the twitching feet of those strung up in a row and put to death on dubious charges.

He tells her even more about the reunion. About the tears that flooded down her face like meltwater in spring, about the meaningful dreams, and the horrifying nightmares. About mistrust and about lying by omission, and how they came to believe in each other all over again.

But most of all he tells her about the bed, shared once more against all odds.


	11. Chapter ten

Bellamy wakes up the following morning to the realisation that he must have slept nightmare-free, and to Clarke propped up on an elbow and looking at his face. He rather wonders why she's doing it, if he's being honest. It can't be very comfortable to have arranged herself like that in such a small bed, and she's perfectly welcome to stare at him while he's wide awake, as far as he's concerned.

Then he remembers Raven, and it all makes a little bit more sense.

"Morning." He murmurs, hoping not to break the peaceful moment.

"Morning." She echoes. "I think I must have fallen asleep during story time last night. I don't remember how it ended."

He finds himself suddenly embarrassed on recalling the blatant message behind his choice of tale. "Don't worry, you didn't miss much."

"I want to know how it ended." She insists. "I want to know whether he gets home and whether everything turns out OK."

"They all live happily ever after." Madi pipes up from her bed, and Bellamy feels only more embarrassed to think that his daughter has been listening in on their conversation. "There's a bit of fighting along the way and some people die, but the hero and his family get a happy ending after all the trouble. He ends up in bed with his wife."

He knows Clarke is staring pointedly at him, can perfectly visualise that particular look on her face, but he takes great care to avoid her gaze.

"It's one of Madi's favourites." He murmurs, wondering whether there is any escaping this conversation. "It's the one she was reading the other day, where the giant gets stabbed in the eye."

"I like the sound of it, too." Clarke whispers, and at that he dares to look up and realise his mistake. She is not staring pointedly at him, after all. No, she is instead avoiding _his_ eye for all she is worth.

Madi coughs loudly and slides gracelessly down the ladder from her bunk. "I'm going to the bathroom." She announces, a little more firmly than necessary.

"Me too." Bellamy volunteers, disentangling his legs from Clarke's and shuffling awkwardly out of bed.

He's not running away, he tells himself as he grabs a random handful of clean clothes borrowed from Kane and sets out down the corridor at pace. He's just very keen to beat the morning rush for the showers.

…...

They pass a cheerful family breakfast together, during which Madi rather carries the conversation while Bellamy and Clarke try not to get caught staring at each other. His daughter is looking forward to another day of training with Wonkru, she tells them, both because it is exciting to meet other kids her own age and because she's keenly hoping for an opportunity or several to learn the family trade of saving the world.

Clarke laughs at that, and Madi snatches a spoonful of her porridge in good-natured revenge.

"It's been good to hear you laugh again, these last couple of days." He murmurs, hoping he doesn't give away too much about the state of his heart by mentioning it.

"It's been good to laugh again." She agrees, stealing some of Madi's breakfast in her turn. "So thanks for that."

Bellamy doesn't allow himself to dwell too long on what that might mean. It is almost as if she is drawing a direct link behind his presence and her laughter, and he can't allow that idea to take root in his silly emotional heart. He knows that there is rather more to it than that, knows that her guilty identity crisis was far more to blame for her state of mind on the Ring than the simple fact of his absence.

He takes a calming breath, and looks up at the clock on the wall. "You need to eat quick, kid. Your session starts in ten minutes."

Madi glances behind her, flustered, and takes in the same clock. "Thanks, Bellamy. I'd better get going." With that, she swallows the last of her porridge and bolts for the door.

Bellamy takes a careful spoon of breakfast, and wonders whether things are about to get awkward now that he is alone with Clarke once more.

As ever, it seems he is guilty of underestimating her. When she speaks, there is nothing but warmth in her voice.

"She's going to be fine, Bellamy."

"How did you know I was worried about her?"

"I used to watch you worry about your sister. You're wearing the same face now."

His worry is almost entirely replaced, all of a sudden, by the warm glow of being truly seen and _known_ for the first time in, he thinks, forever. And he knows he ought to reply, ought to thank her, at the very least, for caring about him in spite of the circumstances, but somehow he cannot quite form the words.

So it is that he simply sits and stares at her, a sheepish smile fixed on his lips. And she's smiling right back at him, a look in her eye that he's pretty sure he hasn't seen since that day in Becca's lab six years ago.

He tears his gaze away, and fixes his eyes on his empty bowl. He can't go exchanging heart eyes with his friend's girlfriend. It's not right, and it's not fair. He would never do that to Raven, would not inflict upon her that punch to the gut he felt on seeing the two of them together when they first landed.

"Bellamy?" He jumps a little at the sound of Clarke's voice breaking the silence.

"Yeah?"

"Can we – can we go to engineering? I know that we didn't get through yesterday but I just – I have to try again."

Those words make short work of the warm glow he was feeling only moments ago, replacing it most effectively with a cold shower of disappointment. Her priority is still speaking to Raven and Echo and Abby, and that's as it should be. He needs to get back on with being a supportive long-lost best friend, sticking by her side and helping her stay steady through the disappointment of not hearing from them.

"Sure we can, Clarke. Whatever you need."

…...

Bellamy remains convinced that going to engineering is a waste of their time, but he knows that it is what Clarke needs to do so he pastes on his most caring expression and sits back in a chair to watch her fail to speak to the people she loves. It is heartbreaking, really it is, witnessing the growing desperation with which she whimpers Raven's name into that radio, but he cannot turn away. He remembers leaving her in here yesterday, remembers how distressed she was at his absence by the time he returned. He cannot do that to her again.

She has tried three different handsets, now, and made a good dozen attempts, and he reckons that it is time to tell her that's enough. He shuffles his chair a little closer to where she sits at the comms station, sparing barely a glance for the monitor that Raven set up showing what the Eligius prisoners are seeing with their eye in the sky. It hurts him a bit too much to acknowledge its existence, right now.

He places a hand softly on Clarke's thigh, and has a go at a bit more honesty.

"I know how you feel, Clarke. Trust me, I do. But I think it's time to accept that you're not going to get through for today."

She shakes her head fiercely, scattering a few rogue tears in the process. "No. I can't give up, Bellamy. I _can't_."

"I know it's hard, Clarke, and I get why you want to keep trying. But it's important to live your life in between calls as well."

"How did you do it?" She asks, looking up to fix him with a damp stare. "How did you put down the radio at the end of your call and get on with your day? How did you manage _years_ of living like this?"

He pauses, the words he wants to say fighting to be let past his lips, his desire to be open with her warring with his own instinct for self-preservation.

"I thought about that kiss." He admits in the end, reminding himself that things get punched when they hide the truth from each other. "I thought about what you said to me that day when I was opening the bunker, too. I held tight to my faith that you – that you loved me, and that kept me going when you couldn't get back to me." He swallows with difficulty, and wonders whether he has ruined everything. Whether he has or not, he figures he's said it now, and he might as well press on. "Raven loves you, Clarke, that's obvious to anyone who's seen her care for you. Just hold tight to that and have faith in her."

She nods with evident difficulty. "The people who love me seem to get in trouble a lot. I keep losing them."

He doesn't have an answer for that. How could he? The only response that comes to mind is pointing out that she's recently _found_ him again, and he's pretty sure that's not an appropriate contribution to a conversation about how much she misses someone who isn't him. He therefore tears his gaze away, determined to look anywhere but at her grief-stricken face.

That's when he sees it. A flicker of black wings, skirting the edge of the image on the monitor before him.

"Did you see that?" He asks Clarke, his earlier sadness replaced by a sudden rush of adrenaline. Because he's pretty sure he knows what he just saw, and he's even more convinced that he knows what it means.

"What?" She asks, leaning forward in curiosity at hearing his tone.

"On the feed from the eye in the sky. It looked like – it looked like a raven."

She gasps a little, but she's still frowning. "And what?"

"There are no ravens around here, Clarke. I lived in that valley for six years and visited Polis dozens of times, and we never saw a single raven. That's not a bird. It's a message."

He can see the argument taking place behind her eyes as reason battles with hope. "It might not be. Are you sure that was what you saw?"

He is sure. He is absolutely positive. But he can't disappoint her now, so he fixes his eyes on the screen and waits for confirmation of his hunch.

He doesn't have to wait long. Minutes later it is there again, in the same part of the image, the same flutter of raven wings. Clarke doesn't say anything about it. She doesn't have to – they both know what it means. She simply jumps to her feet and gets on with making plans, because that is, of course, what she does best.

"We need to keep this from Octavia as long as possible. She mustn't catch us spending any more time here than usual, she'd get suspicious. And this evening we grab Madi and get in the rover and go in there to get -"

The door bursts open, then. Of course it does. Timing has never been on his side, after all. And there is his sister in all of her red-painted glory, cape thrown back over her shoulders like something from a young girl's nightmare. He should have raised her better, a traitorous voice whispers in his ear. He should have kept those nightmares at bay, kept her safer, kept her free from fear. He has failed her, and he has failed his mother, and he's beginning to worry he might have failed his daughter, too.

He shakes that thought aside, stomach twisting in fear as he attempts to look nonchalant.

"Octavia. What brings you here?"

"I heard voices. It sounded like there was something to be excited about. And I did tell you that I might start to get suspicious, if I found you anywhere you shouldn't be again after yesterday."

"We're nowhere we shouldn't be." Clarke gets to her feet, visibly rising to the challenge. "I was just using the radio."

"Ah, yes. And how is _dear_ Raven? And the spy and the addict and the traitor? I'm sure they'll be very happy together."

The addict? The _addict_? Bellamy feels the floor fall away beneath his feet at that latest revelation, but this is neither the time nor the place to dwell on it. He needs to throw Octavia off the scent, and he needs to do it fast. Clarke is obviously in no state to do so, still reeling from his sister's thoughtless words.

"We've not heard from them." He begins cautiously, even as Octavia paces over to join them at the comms station, Miller at her back. "We don't know how they're getting on."

"Liar." Octavia bites the word out at him, an accusation plain and simple.

"He's not lying. We haven't spoken to them." Clarke insists, panic evident in her voice.

"But you know exactly how they're getting on." Octavia nods towards the monitor. "Excited voices, and a raven on the eye in the sky? I'm not an idiot, big brother. I didn't survive down here for six years by failing to notice people lying to my face."

Without stopping to explain what she plans to do with her newfound knowledge, Octavia heads straight out the door.

…...

To say he is a nervous wreck for the rest of the day would be an understatement. His sister knows that he and Clarke have been keeping things from her, and is almost certainly planning to take his daughter to war against everyone Clarke loves. He's pretty sure life doesn't get much worse than this.

No, that's not true. There are isolated bright spots on his horizon. OK, one bright spot, just the flash of Clarke's blonde hair under the too-harsh glare of the bunker lights as she spends the rest of the day stuck to his side.

But all the same, it's bad. And the worst thing of all is the knowledge that he cannot fall apart, cannot punch a wall or sob alone, because Clarke needs him. She needs him _desperately_. It is written in the shake in her voice as she attempts to reason that Raven is probably safe for now, in the tears that course down her cheeks as she works through Octavia's implication that Abby is addicted to goodness only knows what. And it is written most clearly of all in the great lengths she goes to in order to maintain physical contact with him for the rest of the day in some form or another. Sometimes it is just sitting close by his side as they perch on the edge of her bed and talk through plans they are powerless to enact. Sometimes it is the firm grip she keeps on his hand as they wander down the corridors without purpose or destination.

Sometimes it is her head in his lap as, exhausted, she allows him to stroke her hair and tell her that they'll figure out a way out of this one, too.

Only he's not sure they will, this time. Apart from anything else, Clarke's seriously struggling since his sister delivered that unexpected blow this morning, and he's not sure he's going to be capable of saving the world without her on top form. And Madi's still out at training, and he knows that he will only make the situation worse if he marches in there and demands to take her away from the session, so he is powerless to do anything other than sit here and try to hold Clarke together with his bare hands.

"We'll find a way." He murmurs, allowing his thumb to linger on her cheek a little longer than can be good for either of them. "We always do."

"I'm tired of it." She admits. "I'm tired of always having to find a way through the next disaster. I'm tired of not knowing when the axe will fall. I'm tired of being taken by surprise – I would never have expected _your sister_ to be the next threat we had to face."

"She's not my sister any more." He tells her fiercely, even thought he knows it is not quite the truth. She will always be his sister, however poorly he fulfilled his responsibilities as big brother.

That gets him thinking, actually, as Clarke drifts into a fitful nap that he knows she desperately needs. The problem here is that his sister really is the threat. He remembers Clarke saying she had made a peace deal, those few short days ago when she first landed. All that needs to happen here is for his sister to stop waving that damn sword around and make a deal.

She won't do that, though, of course, and for one horrific moment he finds himself in serious danger of pursuing the question of what might happen if his sister wasn't in power. And then it grows only more horrific, as he realises that he is, by implication, thinking of _removing_ her from power. And he knows how tyrants get removed from power, and even entertaining such an idea for his own _sister_ surely makes him a monster.

Thankfully, at that moment, Madi saves him from his guilt by bursting into the room. Clarke stops dozing at the noise, sits bolt upright so fast she almost headbutts him in the jaw. And the two of them are still, for a moment, waiting with baited breath for whatever has Madi barging in here with such urgency.

"We march at dawn." She declares, and Bellamy feels the air rush out of his lungs. "Octavia's ordered it. She knows the eye in the sky is down and says we need to go before we run out of supplies. I'm supposed to march with her at the head of her troops. She – she didn't say anything about where you two would be."

He expects Clarke to crumple at that, after the distress she's been feeling all day. But he should know better, by now, than to underestimate Clarke Griffin. Even when she's shaking and crying and can't quite remember who she is, she is still a force to be reckoned with. She simply gets to her feet, and walks calmly over to Madi, and pulls her into a hug.

"It'll be OK, Madi." Bellamy can hear her words as she speaks confidently for the child's benefit. "No way are you marching to war. We'll sort it out."

With those words, it comes to him in a sudden rush. He knows what he has to do, knows exactly how to keep his daughter safe. Knows exactly how to keep _Clarke_ safe, too, and how to do justice to the responsibility his mother left him with.

He jumps to his feet and strides to the door, scarcely sparing a moment to ruffle Madi's hair as he passes.

"Where are you going?" The girl asks, visibly worried.

He explains himself to her with carefully orchestrated calm. "You two stay here. Look after each other. I'm going to sort this out."

…...

It is not a complicated plan, and it is a million miles away from some of the more sophisticated schemes Clarke has cooked up over the years. In some ways, it reminds him of that time he strode into Mount Weather and dressed as a guard for its gutsy simplicity. But he doesn't think that's a bad thing, really, at this moment in time. Only yesterday they spent hours recreating a fake electrical fire and it didn't get them anywhere.

He doesn't have time for stunts like that, not now. He has a scant twelve hours until the army is due to march, and he has a great deal to achieve in that time.

He starts with engineering, and with calling Diyoza on the radio. She replies within moments, and he breathes a sigh of relief. Maybe he might actually be able to pull this off.

"Bellamy Blake. Now there's a call I didn't expect." Her voice is too smooth, and he doesn't like it.

"I have an offer for you." He does not have time to beat about the bush. "I can hand over Octavia Blake, on the condition that she's not harmed. Wonkru will not march to war. In return we all share the valley peacefully."

Diyoza laughs, and it is not a kind laugh. "Leaving aside the question of how you think you're going to get her to comply with this, why should we share the valley with you?"

"We have farmers and engineers, and some of our leaders prefer peace. Not everyone is like Octavia." He doesn't have time to feel guilt at the idea of using his own flesh and blood as a bargaining chip like this. He doesn't have time to do anything but run full pelt into this godawful _mess_.

"When you say _unharmed_?" Diyoza sounds interested now, and he almost allows himself to relax.

"I mean that no physical harm will come to her, and she will be allowed to live out her life. She will have time and space to reflect on her actions and come to peace with what she's done."

"House arrest?" He stumbles a little on thin air, shocked at the unexpected generosity of the offer. He rather expected to hear that the condition of saving his daughter's life was that his sister would see out the rest of her days in some bleak prison cell.

"That would be acceptable." He agrees, trying not to cry at the thought that nothing about this is any kind of acceptable he's ever come across before.

"Then we have a deal. You've got twelve hours. Don't be late."

With that, the line goes dead. He stuffs a radio handset into his pocket and gets on with beating the clock.

…...

Medical is his next stop, and he doesn't bother to start a fire this time to conceal the evidence that he has broken the lock with a pair of pruning sheers. He spares a second to be grateful that Clarke taught him that trick, and then he gets on with the task at hand. The place is deserted, thankfully, now that the evening is drawing on, so there is no one to ask difficult questions as he goes to the cupboard and searches for the next thread of his plan.

He gives a cold laugh when he gets the cupboard door open. He should have realised it wouldn't be so simple. He came here looking for sedatives, but he should have realised there was more to it than that. Because here, before him, in jars and bottles and vials and blister packs are more drugs than he ever could have imagined. And more than a handful of them claim to be sedatives, and he hasn't the first idea which to choose.

A tiny voice in the back of his mind whispers that he should nip back to the dorm and ask Clarke. But he can't do that, and he knows it. As soon as he asks Clarke even one tiny question, she is complicit in this and will be sent to the pit if it goes wrong.

There is simply no way he can let that happen.

He refocuses on his task. He must choose one of these medicines, alone, because he must be the one to knock Octavia out. That way, he figures, is the safest. Even if something goes wrong, it is unlikely that much suspicion will fall on Bloodreina's brother. And even if she somehow works it out, she would not kill him. He has to believe that she has not changed _that_ much, that she still has a hint of family loyalty, buried deep inside. So it seems to him that wrestling with this impossible situation single-handed is the only way he can save Madi and Clarke.

Frustrated beyond belief, he settles on one of the drugs and slips it into his pocket. He walks to the door, steals a furtive glance down the corridor. And then he walks proudly into the hall, head held high, as if he is the tyrant's loyal brother and utterly above suspicion.

That is, he knows, the only way he will pull this off. And not pulling this off is simply not an option.

He arrives at Octavia's quarters just as her war council are leaving, and muses, once again, that luck and timing really do seem to be on his side for a change. He might just pull this off, he reckons. It is late enough, now, that the corridors are almost empty, and he has here the perfect opportunity to get Octavia alone.

"I can't let you take my daughter to war, Octavia." He cannot call her _O_ , not now, not on the point of hanging her out to dry for the sake of the only other two women he will ever love anywhere near as much as he once loved his sister.

"Here we go again. Trying to make other people's choices for them. She's old enough to make her own mind up now, Bellamy."

He knows they are not talking about Madi anymore, not really. He knows they are talking about all the ways he went wrong in raising Octavia. He shrugs that thought aside and gets on with his plan. Time is short, after all, and has never been kind to him before.

"Remember when Mum and I used to share our rations with you?" He asks, reaching out for a ration bar and slipping a tiny sedative pill into it, hoping that she does not notice more than he has ever hoped anything in his life before. "You mind?" He gestures to her with the food.

"Only if you say the words." She tells him, a cold look in her eyes.

He knows which words she means, and he sees no point in pretending otherwise. He sees no point in pretending that she is still the young girl he remembers.

" _Omun gon osun_." He recites obediently, taking a bite that he knows is safe and then handing the ration to her.

" _Omun gon osun_." She repeats, frowning at him hard. "It's late, Bellamy. If you've come here to beg, just do it."

"I'm not here to beg. I'm here to tell you that I love my sister very much. I hope you still believe that." He needs to say that, even though this woman is somehow no longer her.

"Get to the point." She orders him, and somehow he feels a sense of relief steal over him at that. It is as if she has proved that he has made the right decision, by being so harsh in her response to his words.

"If Wonkru surrenders, we can all live in the valley."

She gasps at him, opening her mouth to speak. Opening her mouth to tell him, no doubt, that he is a traitor and will be fighting in the pit tomorrow.

Only the words never leave her lips. She never speaks, because suddenly she is falling, knocked out by the stolen drugs, her body sagging until she lands in his arms, a tangle of twisted limbs.

He catches her. Of course he does. She is still his responsibility, as long as she shares a name with his sister.

He goes to the door, peeks around the corner. The coast is clear, so he gets on with striding down the corridor. He will take her outside, and then he will radio Diyoza and tell her to pick them up. A simple, foolproof plan.

His lonely journey down the corridors of the bunker gives him plenty of time to reflect on his decision. Octavia looks so much younger, somehow, nestled in his arms in sleep, and it almost makes him doubt himself.

But then he remembers Madi, his daughter, his responsibility. And he remembers Clarke, who has been through so much, just like Octavia, but still remains in essence herself. She might not think so, but he can see it. He can see that Clarke is still, fundamentally, _good_. And that puts his doubts to rest, really. He gets that life has been unkind to Octavia, that she's had far more than her fair share of pain and misfortune. But the thing about pain, he seems to remember, is that it's important to overcome it. The fact that his sister has lost so many things in life does not give her the right to inflict misery on others. Two wrongs do not make a right, and war is not the way to get to peace.

Feeling more confident in his decision, he quickens his pace.

It is Jackson who catches him, and the irony of it makes him want to weep. Of all the people he knows, this is surely the man who is most devoted to peace. And yet when he sees his ruler, limp in her brother's arms, he gives a shout. Of course he does, he's a healer, and he wants to know why she's lying so still.

Miller hears the shout, naturally, and emerges from their dorm straight on Jackson's heel. And Miller is not a peacemaker, but a soldier, and the look he's giving Bellamy right now makes it very clear that he has no interest in any story about terms or peace or surrender. He gives a shout, in turn, and suddenly there are dozens upon dozens of Wonkru warriors swarming the corridor.

Bellamy should have known it would turn out like this. He should have seen it coming, the moment she first was hit by that sonic canon and he witnessed that eerily well-drilled rush to her aid.

Thinking fast, he says the only thing he can think of in that moment.

"She passed out." He curses himself immediately, ashamed at giving up on his plan so easily. Clarke would have done better, he thinks. She would have found a way to throw them off the scent, or convince them this was necessary, or do literally anything at all other than just back down and give in.

"She passed out?" Jackson rushes forward and begins to check her over. "Just like that?"

"Yeah." Bellamy tastes the lie on his tongue and hates himself for his cowardice. "She just passed out, and I caught her, and I was just trying to find someone to help her."

"It's a good thing you found me." Jackson smiles at him, all cheerful credulity, and it makes him want to vomit.

Over Jackson's shoulder, Miller looks rather less satisfied with Bellamy's explanation. "We'll take her from here." He announces, coming forward to lift Octavia out of Bellamy's arms.

As if to punctuate his instruction, half a dozen Wonkru warriors step forward, hands already resting on the weapons at their hips.

For one crazy moment, Bellamy is sorely tempted to fight his way out of this. He knows he'd lose, but he reckons he deserves that right now. He can't believe he managed to screw this up, just like he screws up everything that is important. Just like he screwed up protecting Octavia in the first place, just like he screwed up getting back to that rocket in time, just like he screwed up keeping Madi away from danger.

But then a voice in the back of his mind, a voice that sounds strangely like Clarke whispering to him at the end of the world, tells him to use his head. Reminds him that he's no good to Madi or Clarke dead, and that he therefore needs to get out of this one alive.

He hands over Octavia's limp body, and smiles carefully, and then walks away with a deliberate, leisurely stride.

…...

By the time he makes it back to the dorm his knuckles are bleeding. Surely that is no surprise? If ever there was a time for taking out his anger on a wall, tonight is the obvious moment. Only this time he is not imagining his hopes or dreams or radio dish, not at all. He is just so unbelievably angry with himself, for screwing up that opportunity to sort this out, and for giving up so pathetically when it all started to unravel.

He does go back to his room eventually, though. There is nothing else he can do, after all. He has exhausted his only way of getting rid of Octavia peacefully, and now he must simply sit and watch the clock tick down on a peace deal he will never be able to conclude.

Of course, he acknowledges briefly, it is not the _only_ way to get Octavia out of power. But it is the only way he's willing to contemplate.

Shaking that thought aside, he opens the door gingerly with his less-injured hand. He wilts with relief at the sight of Clarke and Madi sitting side-by-side on the bed, reading some book together and laughing only a little hysterically. It is Madi who gets to him first, engulfing him in a hug so fierce he almost topples over, and telling him over and over again that she knew he'd fix it and she knew he'd come back and she knew, most of all, that everything would be OK.

He cannot respond to that, of course, and is rather too busy drowning in shame, so instead he hugs her back in silence and meets Clarke's eyes over her head. He's expecting Clarke to look disappointed in him, is somehow presuming that she'll have read in his expression that he has failed. And at the very least, she will be annoyed with him for punching that wall.

She doesn't look disappointed, though, and that surprises him. The expression she wears is almost overwhelmingly _gentle_ and that is what breaks him. He lets a couple of tears fall, and hopes that Madi will not notice.

At length, his daughter pulls away from the hug and looks up at him in confusion. "Why are you sad, Bellamy? Didn't you say you'd sort it out?"

"It didn't go so well." He acknowledges, swallowing with difficulty. "I'm so sorry, kid. It seems – it seems I can't always fix everything."

Madi appears almost incapable of processing that idea, but she summons a false smile out of love for him, and his heart goes out to her. "You tried, Bellamy. Thanks. I'm sure we'll work something out. I – I should go to bed. I just wanted to wait up and make sure you got home OK."

He nods, once, and pulls her in for another quick hug before she climbs into her bunk. He excuses himself, then, to go use the bathroom, knowing that if he stays in here a moment longer while Clarke is looking at him like _that_ he will break and tell her everything.

He takes his time over walking down the corridor, and using the facilities, and returning to the room. He concentrates precisely on breathing, and on putting one foot in front of the other, and on the absolute necessity of keeping Clarke in the dark about what he tried to do. She must not appear complicit, must be protected at all costs.

He just about has himself under control by the time he returns. Clarke is still looking at him as if – well, as if she's in love with him, honestly – but he finds that he is almost able to behave calmly as he sits up in bed and waits for her to be ready to join him.

"I guess you want to change the bandages on my hands again." He offers, hoping to distract her from the real issue whilst still giving her an outlet for her desire to fuss over him.

"Yeah. You going to tell me why they're bleeding so much again?" She asks softly, settling at his side and making a start on her task.

"You know why they're bleeding." He shrugs, hopes it doesn't look like he's rejecting her concern.

"I know _how_ they're bleeding." She corrects him, sounding a little annoyed. "I know that you punched a wall. What I don't know is _why_ you felt the need to punch a wall when I thought we were doing well at talking. Something must have gone very wrong."

If only she knew. "Yeah. Yeah, it did. And it's something I really can't tell you about, Clarke. I'm sorry. But you're safe if you don't know."

She fixes him with a frown as she tenderly wraps his hand in soft cotton. "I don't want to be safe. I want to know what's going on with you."

"I know." He lets out a long breath through his teeth. "I had a plan, and it went wrong, and that's all I can tell you. I'm so sorry I can't talk about it, but I just need you to be OK, Clarke."

He's crying now, and they do not talk for a few moments while she pauses her bandaging to wipe away his tears.

"I get that." She murmurs at last, just when he is on the point of losing hope. "But I need you to be OK, too, Bellamy. I've already lost you once, and there's no way I'm doing that again."

He cannot answer that. He cannot promise her that he will be OK, not after what he's just tried to do, not when his head is swimming with desperate schemes to put it right. He simply watches her finish her bandaging, and then holds her tight and surrenders to sleep.


	12. Chapter eleven

There are many nightmares that night. Clarke wakes him first, with her kicking and screaming and choking on his name, and he shakes her gently and reminds her that he's still here, still sticking by her side, still not dead. She quiets eventually, and tells him about it.

"They were taking you away from me." It is all she can say, and she repeats it for good measure.

"You're OK." He murmurs, because he cannot pretend that _he_ is OK.

"They were taking you away." She says it yet again, and his heart clenches painfully.

"I'm still here. Still not dead." He fears that he says it with less conviction than normal.

It does the job, though, as she drifts back into sleep.

…...

It is his own nightmare that wakes him next, and it is only the usual vision of Clarke and Madi in the pit but somehow it feels more vivid, tonight, more real. He senses that he must give Clarke more of a fright than normal, as well, as she places soft kisses on his neck and begs him to wake up.

"I'm awake." He assures her when he can breathe again.

He doesn't tell here he's OK, of course.

"I've got you." She murmurs, lips still pressed to his neck. "I'm never leaving you again, Bellamy, I swear. I'm sticking with you no matter what."

That seems like a bit of a big declaration for the middle of the night, but he'll take it. He tightens his hold on her and lets his eyes close.

…...

He wakes up for the third time, to shouts and screams, and presumes that Clarke is having another bad dream. It is only when the door of the dorm bursts open that he realises he has entered a living nightmare.

"Bellamy." Octavia sounds furious, but she also sounds _awake_ and that shocks him. How is she marching about the place mere hours after he sedated her?

"Octavia." He greets her cautiously, rolling out of bed and feeling the panic set in. He is ill-equipped to deal with this situation, whatever it may turn out to be, in the middle of the night.

Clarke is at his side, somehow holding onto him still. "What's this about?" She asks, gaze flickering between him and his sister.

"You're under arrest for treason." Octavia tells him, as if commenting lightly on the weather, and her nonchalant attitude is what hurts the most. "Really, big brother, couldn't you have done better than that? Sedatives and surrender? It's pathetic." He feels the floor fall away from his feet, is grateful beyond belief for Clarke's warm strength as she holds him upright.

"I don't know what you mean." He feels an instinctive need to deny it, although he's pretty sure there's no getting out of this one.

"I suppose you were hoping I'd be knocked out for longer. But Jackson's a good doctor, and when I woke up I knew I had to assemble my guard and arrest you." She gestures to the warriors at her back.

He swallows carefully, tries to marshal his thoughts for one last attempt at fixing this. Only then Clarke speaks, and he feels his whole world fall apart.

"It was me." She barely whispers the words.

"What?" Octavia looks stunned.

"It was me." Clarke repeats in a stronger voice. "I planned the surrender, I planted the sedatives. Please, as if Bellamy would know his way around med bay? He didn't know that I'd drugged the food he gave you."

He never believed he would live to see the day when Clarke knowing him better than he knows himself could be a bad thing. But she has, somehow, from his limited clues and Octavia's angry speech apparently worked out exactly what he tried to do, and being stupid self-sacrificing _Clarke_ she has decided to take the blame.

He hates her. He hates her so damn much, because she must know he loves her and she's still putting him through this.

"Stop it, Clarke." He tries to sound calm. "She knows it was me. Stop trying to protect me, and just let me go with them."

"As if you'd drug your own _sister_." She fires back at him, energised by danger as she has always been. "And she knows I've been trying to find her weakness for days. She saw me break into the room with the worms in, she knows it was me who broke into med bay tonight. She knows I wouldn't hesitate to do that to her, and she knows you could never bear to hurt her."

"It was me." He insists, wondering why on Earth his sister is hesitating. "You know it was me, Octavia."

"I know you'd do anything to protect Clarke." Octavia says slowly. "But for once in her life, it seems she's going to step up and take responsibility for her actions. I'd take care, big brother. I wouldn't want to think you helped her. If I arrest you too, then we have enough to settle this in the arena."

"That won't be necessary." Clarke insists, holding her composure together with visible effort. "You have my full confession. Leave Bellamy out of this."

Octavia nods, coldly. "Very well. Guards – change of plan. Arrest Clarke."

He clings to her at that, fastens his arms tightly around her and stares them down as if daring the guards to step forward and arrest her. But he has underestimated, of course, that eerie obedience of theirs. They do not care that he curses and cries, do not care about the way he clutches her close. The march inexorably forward, clearly intent on wrenching her bodily from his arms if that is what it takes.

"It's OK." Clarke whispers to him. "It's OK, Bellamy. This is right. Look after Madi, and stay safe."

She presses her lips to his neck, a cold mockery of the comfort she offered him earlier, and then she pulls away.

The coward that he is, he lets her go.

…...

He is trembling and tearful, so it takes him a while to remember that he is not the only person in the room. The guards have all left, of course – they left when Octavia gave the order, although he knows full well that a couple of them are stationed outside to ensure he doesn't leave and run to find out where they have taken Clarke. He can hear them pacing, and talking, and laughing as if they have not just stuck a knife in his guts.

But Madi is still here, clambering slowly out of her bunk, looking sleepy and distressed and, most of all, concerned. She wraps him in a tentative hug, and he is struck by the twisted irony of the child offering comfort to the parent.

"She'll be OK, Bellamy. We'll find a way to fix this."

"There is no way to fix this. I tried the only thing I could think of last night, and look where that got us."

"There's another way." Madi points out. "You know there is."

It is true. Of course it is true. But there is a reason that he has brushed firmly aside the thoughts that have begun to prey around the edges of his mind, of late, of the idea that perhaps the only person who could take down Bloodreina would be a new Commander.

"No, Madi. Forget it. It's too dangerous."

"More dangerous than Octavia taking me to war anyway?"

He doesn't answer that, because he can't. He cannot quite believe that, in the panic of his concern for Clarke, he overlooked that point. Things will carry on just as Octavia planned, now, and they will march to war just the same. The only difference will be that Clarke will be dead.

He trembles a bit harder, lets slip a few more tears.

"Try to get some rest, Bellamy." Madi encourages him softly. "We'll sort this out, I know we will. I didn't spend six years listening to stories of how you and Clarke can do anything just to watch you fail now. But we're not going to fix anything while you're frantic and there are guards at the door."

He nods slowly, sees the sense in her words. It's about all he can see, just now, through the darkness and his tears.

"I don't know what to do." He whispers, rather unnecessarily.

"I think you do." Madi tells him. "But that's OK. We can't do it this minute anyway. Just lie down for a bit until the guards go away, please. I'm sure they'll be gone by morning. And I think you should try to get some rest, because you're scaring me a bit."

Her confession kicks him into gear somewhat. She is a twelve-year-old child, and she does not need to stand here and watch her father fall apart at the seams. He therefore gives her what he hopes is a reassuring hug, and settles himself back into Clarke's still-warm bed.

But he doesn't sleep. Of course he doesn't. He lies there, awake and watchful, and listens for the moment the guards stand down from their door.

…...

In the middle of those quiet hours between night and morning, a barked order and several sets of footsteps catch his attention. The guards are leaving, so he needs to go and do what he can to save Clarke. And to save Madi, as well, because as she pointed out only hours ago she continues to be in danger as long as Octavia presses on with her war.

He doesn't allow himself to analyse what the guards' departure might mean. It cannot mean that Clarke is already dead, and that Octavia therefore sees no further need to keep him under such a close watch. He knows his sister, the tyrant, better than that, knows that she would want to force him to watch Clarke's end in the hope of breaking his spirit.

He therefore forces himself to count to twenty, to ensure that he is not simply re-apprehended the moment he leaves the door, and slips silently out into the corridor.

He heads for his sister's quarters first, making the short journey there in record time and lurking just round the corner from her door, craning his head to catch a view of the guards stationed outside her room for such different reasons. It is Indra's shift, and he is tempted to take his chance with begging the woman whose life he once spared to let him in for an audience.

But then a figure emerges from the door, and he has a better idea. Jackson is just leaving, presumably having been there to check up on Octavia after her ill-measured dose of sedatives, and Bellamy knows that the good-hearted doctor is far more likely to tell him something useful.

The moment Jackson rounds the corner, Bellamy drags him none-too-elegantly against the wall, a hand firmly over his mouth.

"I'm sorry." He hisses. "I'm not here to hurt you, I promise. I just – I need to know where they've taken Clarke."

He knows he sounds desperate. That's because he is. He gathers what little faith he has left in the goodness of humanity, prays that Jackson will not scream for help, and cautiously withdraws his hand.

Jackson frowns for a moment, but it seems that Bellamy's faith in the goodness of this one particular man was not misplaced.

"She's downstairs." Jackson whispers. "Level three, near staircase A. In a holding cell. Miller's on her door at the moment."

Bellamy breathes a sigh of relief. Miller may not be his friend any more, but he was once, and that's the closest thing to good news he reckons he's going to get this side of dawn. It doesn't even occur to him to wonder whether Jackson is lying – he's pretty sure the doctor doesn't have it in him, just as he is strangely certain that he will not tell Octavia about this particular illicit conversation.

He therefore offers up his fervent thanks, and runs at full speed in the direction of staircase A. Luckily the halls are deserted, this being a less-than-usual time for a morning sprint around a nuclear bunker, so he has nothing but the sound of his own panicked breathing for company.

He spares just a second to hope that Madi is OK, still safely inside the dorm, and to remember her earlier words about how her safety is threatened by this development as much as Clarke's. He needs to work something out before dawn, he reckons, otherwise Clarke will be killed and the army will march. And, to be clear, he doesn't have a great history with life-or-death deadlines.

He arrives at the holding cells and, sure enough, Miller is next to one of them, alongside a huge Wonkru warrior with an angry glint in his eye. It is as Bellamy expected – Clarke is well-guarded, and he will not be able to fight his way through to her. There is no way he would be a match for two highly-trained guards at the best of times, not since he spent six years alone with a child. Unarmed and short on sleep he certainly stands less than no chance. He can see, too, that this door is not the kind that can be defeated by a pair of pruning sheers.

He will have to talk his way through this one.

"Miller." He greets his old lieutenant with the closest thing to a smile he can currently summon.

"Bellamy." A nod, but not so much as a quirking of his former friend's lips.

"Jackson told me you were here." If Bellamy hoped that mention of Miller's lover would soften him a little, he is disappointed. "Please, Miller. I just want to talk to her. For – for the sake of the hundred if nothing else, _please_ can you just let me talk to her."

"No." Miller won't meet his eyes, is staring determinedly at the ground.

" _Please_." He can feel the tears springing up and wonders, idly, if he will ever stop crying. He supposes he might spend the rest of his life weeping, if Clarke is killed and Madi taken to war.

"Bellamy, you know we can't let you in."

"Then don't let me in. Just open the door and I'll talk to her from here. I just _need_ to see her, Nate." His breath catches on his former friend's little-used first name. "You have to understand that. You – you know how I feel about her."

"I know." Miller sounds almost apologetic, now.

"So open the door." He sobs. " _Please_."

There is a heartbeat of near silence, interrupted only by his undignified weeping. And then, miraculously, Miller speaks.

"I'll open it." He says quietly, to the evident shock of his fellow guard. "For one minute. You will stand exactly where you are, and you'll remember that anything you say I could report back to Bloodreina."

"Yes." Bellamy gives a jittery sigh of relief. "Sure. Thanks – thank you."

Miller is visibly uncomfortable with his gratitude. "It's OK. I figure that, after everything – at least this time you two should have a chance to say goodbye."

That should break something inside of Bellamy. Of course it should. But somehow, that is not what happens at all. Rather, it sticks something _back together_ , and hardens his resolve. This is not goodbye, and it is not how his story with Clarke ends. He just needs to help her realise that, needs to bring her enough hope to see it through while he goes to save the day. While he keeps to this time limit, for once in his damn life.

Miller opens the door, and there is Clarke.

"Clarke." He cannot help taking one step towards her, but then he remembers himself and stops, just outside the threshold.

"Bellamy?" She sounds shocked and more than a little scared. "What are you doing here? You should be gone by now, Bellamy. You should have taken Madi and run -"

"We're not doing that." He interrupts her firmly. "We're sticking with you."

It is all he can say with Miller listening in, and he hopes she understands. She must be able to see the guards lurking over his shoulder, and she has always been a bit too perceptive in putting puzzle pieces together.

"No, Bellamy. You can't risk your life for me again. It's my turn, now. And I need you to be OK, I need you to keep yourself and Madi safe."

He came here to give her hope, not to listen to her be so stubbornly careless of her own life. "No, Clarke. Listen to me. I can't lose you. I'll work something out. But no way are you sacrificing yourself for me. You deserve a happy ending, you hear me? I'll sort this out with Octavia and you'll go free, and you'll live and love and laugh in that green valley. I just need you to keep breathing while I figure this out."

"There's nothing to figure out." She argues right back at him, emotions spilling over as they seem to do in this post-Praimfaiya Clarke. "Just let me protect you, _please_."

He loses his temper at that, brushes aside Miller with a wave of the hand as he tries to explain that the minute is nearly up.

"Will you stop being so stubborn, Clarke!" Bellamy knows that yelling at her will achieve nothing, but he seems powerless to stop it. "Why are you even doing this? Why will you not just tell Octavia the _truth_?"

She is silent for one, long moment, and Bellamy is loosely aware of Miller punching in the code and the door beginning to shut.

And then she is silent no longer, and the words tumble out of her, bursting forth evidently against her will, loud and plain and undeniable.

"Because I love yo-"

The door is shut in his face.

He doesn't remember choosing to sit down. But somehow it seems that he has sunk to the floor, and in a rather unexpected development Miller, of all people, has an arm around his shoulders and is trying to offer empty words of comfort. Bellamy shakes him aside, and pulls himself effortfully to his feet. He doesn't have time to sit around and weep. If Clarke thinks that a confession like that is going to encourage him to bend to her will and run away with Madi, she's got another think coming.

Yet again, it seems that the universe has presented him with a decision. And this time, as last, he knows there is really no choice.

He needs to stick around, otherwise he might not see Clarke again.


	13. Chapter twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It makes me happy that people enjoyed the love-declaration-and-closing-door drama of last chapter! Please enjoy this slightly more plot-orientated chapter - happy reading!

Bellamy doesn't have time to punch anything, of course, but he can feel his knuckles almost itching with the need to take out some of his frustration and terror on a slab of cold concrete. He forces himself, instead, to channel those feelings into running as fast as possible back towards the dorm.

He thinks too much while he runs. Not about Clarke's confession, strangely – after all this time, and all those touches and nightmares and smiles, he finds her words almost unsurprising. He thinks instead about Madi, and about whether it makes him a terrible father to be even considering the plan that he is currently turning over in his mind.

When he arrives at the room, his daughter is already up and dressed, perched on the edge of the bed that started out as his but has not been slept in for quite some days. He spares a moment to note the traditional grounder clothing and the rather military-style cape.

It seems she is taking this unspoken only choice even more seriously than he is.

"Bellamy." She jumps to her feet, pulls him into a quick hug. "Come on, we need to find Gaia."

He feels the world spin around him at that – or perhaps his dizziness is just a natural consequence of so much exertion after a sleepless night and before breakfast.

"What?" He chokes on the word slightly.

"We both know it's the solution and I don't understand why you won't just come out and say it. We've run out of options, Bellamy, and I'm ready to do this."

He swallows deeply and forces himself to say the words he has been avoiding all week. "You want to take the flame. After a whole childhood hiding from it, you're seriously suggesting that you get that thing put in your head?"

"Yes." She confirms, softening a little with relief that he is finally open even to voicing the idea aloud.

"You know I don't want you to do that." He mutters, staring with tears in his eyes at the ceiling and praying for a better way. "This – this shouldn't fall on you, Madi. I'm supposed to protect you."

"And you have protected me perfectly for six years. But now it's time to save Clarke, who you love, and who I love too. And before you tell me I'm not allowed to sacrifice myself for her – you know this is the only way to save _me_ , too. It's the only way to save everyone."

He sighs heavily. He knows she is right, and he really wants to have time to sink to his knees and despair for a few moments, or punch something. Or hold Clarke, of course, but that's not currently an option.

He therefore settles for hugging his daughter, and reflecting on the truth of her words. It is, logically speaking, the only choice. He suspects that if Clarke were here, with her strategic mind and rational head, this wouldn't even be worthy of discussion. No, actually, he's not so sure of that any more. This new Clarke, the one who came back to him from the sky, does seem rather more prone to letting her heart lead the way – he's pretty sure the Clarke he used to know would not have declared her love for him to a closing door.

This isn't what he's supposed to be worrying about right now. He's supposed to be saving the world, but it's quite difficult to concentrate on that when all he can think about the fact he's meant to share that duty with Clarke.

In the end, he gives a little nod, and his perceptive daughter reads his answer in that. Without further ado, she strides towards the door, and he is left trailing in her wake.

He needs, at least, to apologise for failing her. "I'm sorry Madi. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was supposed to come back to us, and we were supposed to live happily ever after, like in those stories I told you."

Madi snorts and ushers him through the door. "What planet have you been living on? This is Earth, and you have to make your own happy endings."

So that's that. The most agonising decision of his life, made in record time.

…...

They move quickly – after all, they have no choice but to do so. They almost beat down Gaia's door in their urgency, but when she opens it to admit them she looks less than flustered and hardly even surprised.

"You are ready now?" She asks, and Madi nods, and Bellamy tries not to vomit.

The seconds Madi spends passed out are the longest of his life. Worry for his daughter claws at his throat, worry for Clarke pools in his stomach, and the whole swirling mess of anxiety threatens to overwhelm him. Not to mention, of course, that he can practically hear the clock ticking in the back of his mind – or maybe that is just his own heartbeat.

Then Madi comes round, a solemn set to her jaw, and tells them that it has worked.

They decide to start with Indra. Bellamy thinks this is a risk, but Gaia swears that her mother remains a good woman at heart and is not entirely satisfied with the more rash decisions Octavia has made of late. Madi backs her up, insisting that Lexa's memories in the flame show her that Indra would always be loyal to a rightful commander, come what may, and so Bellamy finds that he is overruled.

He supposes he ought to get used to that.

Gaia slips out of the room to fetch her mother, and Bellamy and Madi are left alone. This ought to be a comfortable situation, Bellamy supposes. After all, it was just the two of them for six years. But it all feels different, now, as if he is somehow less of a parent for allowing her to go through with this, and she is somehow less of a child for volunteering for it.

"Don't look at me like that, Bellamy." Madi chides, as if reading his mind. "I'm still me. I'm still – I'm still your daughter."

"I don't feel like much of a father any more."

"You're the best father I could ask for. And when this is done, we'll save Clarke and get on with being a family again, just like you always said we would."

He nods, with difficulty, and holds fast to his faith in their happy ending. Sure, war is mere hours away with only his pre-teen daughter standing in its way, but somehow he is honestly starting to believe that they will do this. After all, his faith in Clarke's love has got him through tougher times, before now.

Gaia makes it back, then, and Bellamy is grateful for the excuse not to speak further. Indra stumbles through the door behind her, breathless and rather less composed than usual.

Then Indra drops to her knees, with one single word on her lips, two lonely syllables.

"Heda."

And that is that. It's all strangely anticlimactic, Bellamy thinks. He expected an argument, or at the very least to have to put a bit of effort into persuading this most loyal of lieutenants to change her allegiance. It seems faith is a pretty powerful force, round here.

Madi nods, once, and gestures to Indra to rise.

"Indra. I need your help. I need to step up and lead my people, but I know not all of them will welcome me. Some of them believed the time of the flame was over." Madi explains, voice carrying with confidence in the small space.

"You called the right person." Indra tells her, climbing to her feet.

…...

Bellamy has precious little to do for the next hour besides sitting next to Madi and watching her like a hawk. He's not sure what he's looking for – signs that the flame is disagreeing with her, perhaps, or signs that she's exhausted from the lack of sleep – but he knows that he needs to do _something_ to feel like he is contributing to this operation.

He's not contributing, though. So much is evident. He is simply sitting there while Gaia and Indra summon small groups of the faithful and let them in on the news, a handful at a time. A couple of hundred people have bowed before Madi when Bellamy recognises Jackson in the crowd.

"What's he doing here?" Bellamy hisses to Indra. "He was never a believer. This can't end well."

"He was never a believer in the _flame_." Indra corrects him. "He's a believer in peace. And it's obvious that Madi has taken the flame now to lead us to a peaceful resolution. Inviting him here was a political move. If he takes it well, we'll invite more Skaikru."

He does take it well. He takes it very well indeed, hugging Bellamy and saying that he knew they would find a way out of this bloodshed.

And then he suggests that they invite Miller to hear the news next.

It is all over, then. Miller takes one look at the people crammed into Gaia's quarters, people he loves and trusts, and at the bold young girl who has inspired them to seek a better way, and drops to his knees with tears in his eyes. Bellamy leaves Jackson to comfort him, and pulls Madi into a hug. He is proud beyond belief of the bravery his daughter has shown in the last hour.

"That's it." Madi speaks the words that were on the tip of his tongue, that store of strategy she now carries in her head apparently serving her well. "We've got both her lieutenants and hundreds of warriors. It would have been good to get Cooper, too, but we can't have everything. I think we're ready to go."

"You're not going anywhere." Bellamy informs her. On this point he is determined to stand firm.

"But -"

"No. There's no need. I'll take Indra and Miller and whoever they pick out as their best fighters. You stay here with Gaia, and order some of your new followers to go release Clarke."

Madi nods at that, apparently happy to have been given a useful task to do, and Bellamy gathers his troops and prepares to avoid a battle.

…...

It is Jackson who betrays Octavia, in the end, and the irony of the situation is lost on no one. Bellamy muses that this turn of events seems to encompass everything that is wrong with this damn bunker, as well as everything that is still right with the human race. But it has to be Jackson, of course it does, because the simplest way to get Octavia out of power without a struggle is for her trusted doctor to administer her a sedative under the pretence of healing her.

"You can do this." Bellamy encourages Jackson, as they hover outside the door of Octavia's quarters.

"I know I can." Jackson agrees sadly. "The worst thing is, I almost _want_ to. I'm so angry with her for everything she's done that I almost _want_ to knock her out and hand her over to a group of murderers."

Bellamy swallows down bile at that, tries to push aside the thought of the fate he has condemned his own sister to. This is the only way to save his daughter, and the woman he loves, and the human race. And he's pretty certain Bloodreina isn't really his sister any more, anyway.

"You're doing the right thing." He tells Jackson, but he knows he's trying to reassure himself, too. "This is how we get to peace."

"Maybe this time that will turn out to be true."

With that, Jackson strides into Octavia's quarters, Indra and Miller at his heels, and Bellamy is left standing outside the door. This is his allotted post, and he knows it makes sense. He knows that Octavia would see something amiss if he was in her room, would grow suspicious and might ruin their plan. But he still desperately wishes he could be there. He wants to say goodbye one last time.

No, not goodbye. This is not how his story with his baby sister ends, he is determined on that point. He made Diyoza swear that Octavia would be unharmed, so if all goes to plan he has a lifetime to seek slow reconciliation with her. A lifetime to work out whether any part of his sister still lives.

Minutes pass, but Bellamy does not punch any walls. He has an audience, after all, a guard of two dozen warriors who would surely lose some of their confidence in this plan if they saw him falling apart at the seams. And besides which, he is clinging to the hope that Clarke is being set free, many metres below them, and that she might come running round the corner at any moment.

At last, Indra shouts out his name in welcome, and he wastes no time in entering the room. Octavia is lying there, limp and pale, on the bed, and in sleep she does not look like a tyrant any more.

It makes the next thing he has to do even more challenging. He grabs the radio from his pocket, and calls Diyoza.

"This is Bellamy Blake, calling Colonel Diyoza. I'd like to close on that deal."

There is a heartbeat of silence, and then a cold laugh. "You surprise me, Bellamy Blake. It's done?"

"It's done. Come and pick her up. Bring your peace treaty, and bring witnesses."

He sets the radio down, and takes a deep breath. Miller is bending over the bed, reaching towards Octavia's limp body, but Bellamy's not having that.

"Leave it, Miller. I'll carry her." She is his sister, after all. She is his responsibility. And maybe he wants to hold her anyway, just in case this is goodbye. Just in case there is no reconciliation to be had in Shallow Valley.

He scoops her up in his arms, and is assaulted by an onslaught of memories. There is the memory of trying to achieve this same goal last night, of course there is. But there is also the battle at the dropship camp, handing her over to Lincoln for safekeeping. There is the newborn Octavia, gurgling up at him from a bundle of blankets.

He shakes himself a little, and heads for the ground. Time is still against them, and on this occasion he is determined to beat the clock. Diyoza's arrival is one more ship he had best be on time for.

It is slow going, carrying his precious burden, slower than he would like. And then they reach the ground, and stumble through rubble, and he focuses very carefully on not dropping Octavia.

And there, suddenly, running around a corner with Madi and Gaia by her side, is Clarke. She looks so beautiful and so fierce and so _alive_ that he can feel his heart in his throat, but he knows that this will not be the reunion he has dreamed of for so long, either. They will not fall into each other's arms, and share heated kisses, and have a happy ending and a thousand children. Keep up – this is no fairy tale. She may be a princess, but he's no knight in shining armour. No, he's a janitor, carting around enough emotional detritus that, in another life, he'd have made a capable baggage handler.

So it is that Bellamy gives a hollow laugh at their timing and resigns himself to yet another disappointing reunion. It is typical, he thinks, of his history with Clarke, that she should confess her enduring love to a closing door and then they should next see each other in the middle of a frantic peace mission while he's carrying an unconscious dictator. He can't even _hug_ Clarke, let alone say anything about the state of his own heart. And there is really quite a lot he intends to say on that subject, when the opportunity presents itself.

Diyoza does not keep them waiting. The transport ship lands, and she strides out with that vile McCreary and a weary-looking Kane at her back.

"Kane!" Bellamy hears Clarke's gasp, sees her run forwards to embrace the man who is almost her stepfather.

"How touching." Diyoza doesn't sound particularly touched. "Let's get this deal signed, Bellamy. You are signing as Wonkru's leader now you've deposed your sister?"

"No. My daughter is the Commander of Wonkru."

Diyoza doesn't even blink. She must have faced stranger enemies before now, Bellamy supposes, than a twelve-year-old child. She simply hands the pen to Madi, and asks if Kane and McCreary will be acceptable witnesses.

Bellamy is tempted to laugh. Kane is apparently witnessing less than nothing, so tied up is he in an earnest conversation with Clarke. But Octavia's body is growing heavy in his arms so he simply nods.

"Indra and I will witness for Wonkru." He tells Diyoza, who seems to find this acceptable.

It is all over rather quickly, in the end. The paper is signed, and Octavia is handed over. Bellamy reiterates the point that she must be well looked after, and Diyoza spares him something approaching a smile.

"She'll be safe. You can see her when you move to the valley. Do you want a lift with us now or will you pack things up here first?"

"We'll drive over." Bellamy decides, not keen to remember the last time he shared a transport ship with Eligius. "We still have the rover. Expect us tonight – Clarke will want to see her family as soon as possible. And then Miller and Indra will follow with the rest in ten days or so."

Diyoza nods. "We're leaving you enough food to see your people through the walk."

Bellamy didn't quite expect that, somehow, and he finds himself unsure how to cope with the notion of a kind gesture from someone he thought was the enemy. "Thank you."

"This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, I think." Diyoza's definition of _beautiful friendship_ may be faulty, he suspects, but he's not inclined to argue too loudly. "Keep in touch on that radio, Bellamy. Let us know when to expect you. I look forward to working with you and your people."

She boards the transport ship then, telling McCreary to _quit his moaning_ and Kane to _quit his moping._ And then the door closes behind them, and his sister is gone.

…...

Bellamy knows there are still things to be done. Moving eight hundred people to a new home, particularly in the wake of the chaos of deposing a tyrant, is not going to be straightforward. But in the relief of meeting that life-or-death time limit, this time round, it is all he can do to sink to the ground in a pathetic mess of twisted limbs.

 _Exhausted_ doesn't even begin to describe how he's feeling. Even _drained_ would be half way there, at best. And he knows that he needs to get up and get on with things, that they have a rover to pack and then he needs to drive Clarke home to her mother and lover, but he's just going to have to sit here for a moment, first.

He feels a warm hand on the back of his neck, and looks up into Clarke's concerned gaze.

"You doing alright?" She asks him, because that's what they do for each other.

He shakes his head, tries to turn it into a shrug. Gives up and settles for an odd twitch of his neck.

She removes her hand, and settles onto the floor at his side. He spares a moment to notice that they seem to be alone, that Madi and the others must have gone back into the bunker, but it is as if he is noticing it through that particularly thick, clingy fog that likes to coat the valley in autumn.

"Thank you." She murmurs. "I know you didn't just do it for me. I mean thank you for doing that for _all_ of us. You saved so many people today, Bellamy. And I can't imagine what it cost you to hand over your sister, but you'll see her again. You'll have a chance to put things right between you."

"What if it can't be put right? What if I've broken our relationship forever?"

"Bellamy. You know that's not possible." She chides gently, taking his hand in her own. "If you've learnt nothing else this last week, you must have learnt that any relationship can be fixed if you try hard enough."

He gives a reluctant laugh at that, and allows himself to say what he's been wanting to tell her for hours now.

"Clarke, about what you said earlier. I just need you to know that – that I love you, too." The words he knows must follow are stuck in his throat, but he forces them out all the same. "What about Raven?"

She sighs heavily, but she's still holding his hand. "I love her too. Probably I wouldn't have loved her if I hadn't been stuck in space with her. But then again, probably I wouldn't have loved you if I hadn't been stuck on Earth with you."

He understands that. After all, what is love, but affection and circumstance, twisted in knots? He therefore squeezes her fingers and encourages his care for her to overrule his disappointment.

"I get that, Clarke. It's OK."

"It's not OK." She shoots back at him, and he hates how angry she sounds with herself. "How do you not hate me? After leaving you, and falling in love with someone else, and now – now this."

"My love for you has survived the best part of seven years and the end of the world." He reminds her softly. "I think it can survive something as minor as you falling in love with someone else."

That startles a small laugh out of her, and he allows himself to reach an arm around her shoulders and pull her half across his lap. After all, they have now established that neither of them is feeling particularly platonic, so he doesn't think she'll mind.

Sure enough, she cooperates willingly, and leans her cheek against his chest. "I'm going to need some time to work things out, Bellamy. I'm sorry, I know that it must be difficult for you but – can you just keep being you while I do that? I'll let you know when I figure it out."

Based on the way she's clinging to him, he decides he's going to take _being you_ as _being like this_. And it's not ideal, obviously, because he thinks he's been pretty clear that he's head-over-heels – or should that be heart-over-head? - in love with her, yet she's still half in love with Raven. But it is so much better than nothing. It is better than her being dead, better than never seeing her again.

It is better than those lonely nights he spent wondering if she'd ever really loved him at all.

He therefore gathers his courage, and lets the couple of tears that are tracking down his cheeks fall into the softness of her hair. "That's alright, Clarke. I get that. And I'll always be here for you, not matter what. No questions until you work it out, OK?"

"OK." She agrees, and curls a little deeper into his lap.

He allows himself the luxury of staying like this just until his eyes are dry and both of them are breathing calmly. They cannot sit around all day, not if Clarke is to see Raven and Echo and Abby tonight. He therefore loosens his arms and tries to encourage her to get up.

"Come on. We should get going if we want to get there today."

"What?" She rises reluctantly and fixes him with a frown.

"I told Diyoza we'd be at the valley tonight. I'll drive you back to Raven and Echo and your mum."

"What about Madi?" Clarke sounds puzzled.

"She'll come with us. She'll be eager to get home."

Clarke is shaking her head now. "No, Bellamy. She's going to need to stay here long enough to secure her power base, and no way am I splitting up from her again. I'm pretty sure you don't want to do that, either. And you're not driving when you barely slept last night." He tries not to gape openly at the news that she has already become quite so attached to Madi.

"But I thought you'd want to see them as soon as possible?" Why does she sound annoyed with him, when he is only trying to do what he thought she would want?

"Not as badly as I want you and Madi to be safe." She insists firmly. "I know they'll be OK now we've signed the treaty, and I can call them on the radio. But we're not going anywhere until you've had some rest and Madi's had chance to recite the lineage and get all of Wonkru calmed down."

He has to admit it, he's missed this decisive Clarke, however much he might be annoyed with her right now. He therefore pulls her into an exasperated hug and admits defeat.

"We're leaving tomorrow." He informs her. "You're not making us wait any longer than that."

He is fed up of watching her sacrifice herself for other people, and he's pretty sure this is one small way in which she does not need to sacrifice her well-being any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	14. Chapter thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been exciting to get more reviews over the last couple of chapters, so thanks for that! Thanks to Stormkpr for betaing as well. Only one last chapter to go after this. Happy reading!

Clarke goes to engineering alone to make her radio calls to her loved ones in Shallow Valley. Bellamy respects that – he can quite understand why she might want a bit of privacy for her conversation with Raven, after the events of recent hours. In fact, he's trying very hard to respect everything about Clarke and Raven's relationship as he reminds himself not to get his hopes up. Raven has been her rock for six years, and he has no right to pry into their relationship just because he has been reconnecting with Clarke for six days.

Clarke doesn't frame it like that, of course. She does not tell him that she wants him out of the way while she talks to the woman who is still her girlfriend, however loudly she might have recently shouted her love for him at an unyielding door. Instead she tells him that he looks exhausted, and that as a doctor she's ordering him and Madi to go back to the dorm and take a nap.

So that's what he does. And he's sufficiently tired that he lowers his guard just far enough to admit to himself that, actually, he might have missed following orders from Clarke. Just a little bit.

He walks Madi back to the dorm, and watches her settle into her bunk. She may be the leader of her people, now, but he and Clarke are determined that she will get some sleep before she stands in front of that crowd and recites the lineage later today. He tries not to think too hard about the fact that sounds suspiciously like _co-parenting_.

Bellamy expects it to take him a while to drift off. It's been a tense few hours, after all, and he isn't sure he can sleep without Clarke in his arms, any more. Not now he's had the best part of a week to get used to doing just that.

But exhaustion overcomes him, and he slides into sleep.

…....

He wakes to the sensation of warm arms wrapped protectively around him from behind, and a body he knows must be Clarke's curled so closely against his back that he's not quite sure where he ends and she begins.

She's awake, he can feel it in the pattern of her breathing. He supposes he ought to turn around and face her before starting an actual conversation, but he has to admit, it's good to be held like this. There is such comfort in her embrace, after a night of losing her and a morning of giving up his sister, that he is perfectly content to stay put and enjoy it while it lasts.

“Morning.” He mutters, finding her hand and entwining his fingers with her own.

“Morning. Sleep well?” She punctuates the question with a soft kiss at the base of his neck. If she carries on like this, he reckons he could be forgiven for thinking she might have forgotten they're not actually together.

“Yeah. What time is it?”

“Time for the ascension.” Clarke tells him, tone apologetic. “I'm glad you're awake, I didn't want to have to disturb you.”

“It's not a problem.” He bids goodbye to his current comfortable situation, sits up, and stretches. “I must be getting old. Napping in the middle of the day and feeling my neck crack when I get up.”

She laughs at that, and it is almost untainted by that hysteria he remembers hearing when she first landed. “Don't worry, you're looking good for an old man.”

He's not quite sure what to do with that compliment, and it appears she isn't either. She rolls out of the bunk in the other direction, and the two of them busy themselves with unnecessary faffing in an embarrassed silence until Madi announces that it is time to leave.

Bellamy supposes he ought to get used to watching his daughter call the shots.

That is the thought that stays with him, as he and Clarke stand just behind her and listen to her recite the lineage. All goes to plan, and she evidently meets with the approval of Wonkru – fierce warriors are falling over themselves to get down on their knees and swear fealty to her. For such a big occasion, Bellamy thinks, it seems to be over rather quickly. There are a few names to be said, and a lot of bowing and praising to be done, and that is that.

The hardest decision of his life, finalised in record time.

With her power now secured, Madi turns to the pair of them with an easy smile. It warms his heart to see that she can still hold onto that childlike joy, despite the weight of responsibility that now sits on her shoulders.

“Come on, you two.” She orders them cheerfully. “If we're moving out of here tomorrow, I say we need to get packing.”

So it is that they spend the rest of the day doing just that. It doesn't _need_ to take them the rest of the day, of course. They have only the couple of changes of clothes they took from Marcus and Abby's quarters, and the notebooks filled with stories, and a handful of spare stationery. But Clarke insists on taking everything else of use from her mother's former home, too, and Bellamy thinks it sensible to take another radio, and Madi wants more drawing materials. She seems to have caught that hobby from Clarke, he notes with some amusement. He never realised sketching could be contagious.

All in all, it takes them a while, and not only because they want to fetch and carry so many items from so many locations. There is also the fact that they are not necessarily going about things in the most efficient way, and that for the first time in as long as he's known her Clarke seems to be inclined to procrastinate. He appears to have found himself in the midst of a conspiracy to waste time, in fact.

That becomes abundantly clear to him when he is hit in the ear by a bundle of rolled-up socks.

He flinches, surprised, and turns in the direction of the unexpected attack.

“Madi?” He asks, incredulous. Sure, she's a kid, and she likes to play, but he's never known her to throw _socks_ at him before now. And the day she becomes Commander hardly seems like an obvious time to start.

“It was Clarke's idea.” She defends herself in a rush.

“It was not my idea.” Clarke argues back indignantly. “Do I seem like the kind of person who would start a sock fight?”

“You're both idiots.” He tells them affectionately, tossing the socks harmlessly back at Madi.

“That's why you love us.” His daughter pipes up with a cheeky grin.

“Yes.” He concedes. “Partly true. But that doesn't mean I want socks thrown at me.” He tries for a paternal glare, although he's never been much good at those.

“I think peace is going to our heads.” Clarke suggests, a broad smile still splitting her cheeks.

“Good.” He gives a decisive nod, and gets back to picking his way through Kane's spare pants.

…....

Of course, it cannot all be so lighthearted. They have peace now, sure, but the spectre of the war they almost fought still hangs over them, and he has not forgotten Clarke's attempt to put her life on the line for him.

So it is that, once they have eaten supper and Madi is asleep, he takes a place by Clarke's side on the bed and tells her what has been on his mind all day.

“It worries me that you keep taking risks like that. Like what you did last night.” He murmurs into the darkness.

“It worries me that you keep punching things.” She throws right back at him. “But I suppose that's nothing new. You remember how you started kicking things in that supply depot back at the beginning, and that's how you found those guns?”

“Yeah.” He gives a wistful sigh, and muses that it probably isn't very healthy to feel nostalgic about the dysfunctional coping mechanisms of days gone by. “The risk-taking isn't new either, though, is it? The nightblood you tried to inject yourself with. The City of Light. Walking off into the woods for three months. Jumping off a dam. For a woman who's so great at thinking things through, you do put _yourself_ in danger on impulse all the time.”

“Yeah.” She agrees, so quietly he has to strain to hear it.

He takes that as invitation enough to continue. “I know telling you to stop won't work. Just like you knew not to tell me to stop punching things. But – you did say I could talk to you or hug you instead. So this is me asking if, next time, you could try to talk to me or hug me before you go and get yourself killed to save the world?”

She gives a hollow laugh, and the hysteria is back, and he does not like it. All the same, he is proud of himself for managing to broach the subject.

“I'll try.” She whispers, then hides her face in his neck. She stays there as she murmurs the words that follow. “It's just – that seems to be what I do, now. I don't know how else to live. Ever since I got put in solitary and expected to die when I turned eighteen, I feel like I've been living on borrowed time. So if there's a risk to be taken – it makes sense that it has to be me that takes it.”

“It doesn't make sense to me.” He tells her, wrapping her tightly in his arms. “I know it's complicated, Clarke, and I know it'll take you time to work it out. But just know that – that I like you _not dead_. And that I'm here any time you need to talk or hug.”

“That's one of the reasons I love you.” She tells him, just like that, as if that's an acceptable thing to drop into the middle of a conversation.

He swallows with difficulty, tries to convince his voice to come out at something vaguely resembling a normal pitch. “It is?”

“Yeah. You care _so much_. And the way you're always trying to help me see the good in life even when – when there isn't much good to see.”

So it's weird that they're having this conversation, of course it is. There is a Raven-shaped shadow looming in the corner of the room, and he can feel his cheeks burning with shame in the darkness.

But this might be his only chance to be honest with her about this.

“I worried that it would be all wrong when you got back.” He tells her, voice shaking with nerves. “Not _wrong_ like you being with someone else. But wrong like – what if we didn't fit any more? What if you only loved me out of – I don't know – nostalgia? Obligation?”

“I don't think you need to worry about that.” She murmurs, her voice shaking in turn, and he marvels at how far they have come since she landed to be able to have this conversation at all. “You've changed, yeah. You think things through a bit more, but you also express your emotions more rather than just bottling them up and then acting recklessly and that – that's a _good_ change.” He thinks back to all those days he cried over that radio, and wishes he could go back in time and tell that lonely man that something good would come of hearing himself fall apart at the seams.

He gathers his guts and tries for a little explanation of his own. “I – it's like that with you. You cry more, sure, but you also wear your heart on your sleeve more, and that's good. But – the things I really loved about you in the first place haven't changed. I didn't ever love you for your self-control. That's not a thing anyone falls in love with. I love you for being kind and strong and brave and – that's still you.”

She relaxes more deeply into his embrace then, but she says nothing else. And he does not speak either, because he's practising very carefully the art of asking no questions until she has worked things out. And she clearly hasn't worked things out, because he's pretty sure that having a conversation with someone she's not dating about why she loves them is the definition of _not having worked things out_. So it is that he simply sits and holds her until his eyelids are starting to drift closed.

“I'm sorry.” He breaks the silence in the end. “I'm falling asleep here. We should get to bed.”

She pulls back from his arms, and in the dim light that spills under the door from the corridor, he can just about make out the glint of her eyes. She nods, once, resolutely – as if deciding something, he wonders.

And then she pulls back the covers, and climbs into the bed, and tugs him gently towards her. They arrange themselves, limbs tangled together, her back snug against his front. He is sorely tempted to kiss the nape of her neck, but he decides he had better not. It is one thing for her to initiate things like that, he reckons, when she is the one who is working things out, but it would be unfair for him to take advantage.

He settles instead for nuzzling into her hair, and then he succumbs to sleep.

…....

He has a nightmare. Of course he does – he just handed his sister over to a bunch of criminals. So, yeah, that's what he dreams about. Octavia being stabbed for no apparent reason, and as she bleeds out in his arms she tells him it's all his fault.

Everything is always his fault, the nightmare is telling him. Everything is his responsibility, everything adds to his guilt.

But then he wakes up to Clarke stroking his forehead, and whispering to him about valleys and families and happy homes. He tries very hard not to hear those words too clearly – he knows she must mean them as a comfort, but it is almost painful to listen to her talk about the future he has always wanted with her but which she might yet choose to have with Raven.

He simply relaxes into her touch, and lets his breathing return to normal.

Once he has calmed down a bit, he allows himself to take in more of what she's saying. It does seem unlikely to say the least, he muses, that she would waste so much breath on talk of families, and repeat the word _we_ quite so often if she hadn't worked out that she wanted a future with him.

But he's asking no questions, because he promised he wouldn't.

“Thanks.” He mutters, when he thinks he can speak with some semblance of dignity once more. “Thanks for being here for me.”

“I wouldn't be anywhere else.” She tells him, with one last brush of her thumb along the length of his cheek. “Now relax and get some sleep.”

He is sorely tempted to chuckle at that. It is ironic to hear that suggestion on her lips, given her frequent nightmares, but he -

She giggles, then, a little too loudly in the darkness, and he takes that as permission enough to let loose a laugh of his own.

“I'm sorry.” She splutters, evidently trying to keep it down for Madi's sake. “That's rich, coming from me.”

“Yeah.” He agrees, squeezing her tight. “But it's good to laugh with you all the same.”

He's still wearing a smile when he falls asleep once more.


	15. Chapter fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to the final chapter! Huge thanks to those who have read and reviewed this story along the way, and hugest thanks to Stormkpr who does so much betaing. Happy reading!

Bellamy tries not to hope, as they drive back to Shallow Valley. He has been too optimistic about a future with Clarke before now, and look where that got him.

He still remembers that last day in Becca's lab, and then the hike to the tower. Right up until he watched the timer on his wrist tick away to nothingness, he remembers presuming that he and Clarke would get together for real in space. Of course he did – what else was he supposed to presume, when she had essentially told him she loved him, and they were stuck together like glue?

She actually did tell him she loved him, only yesterday. And they seem to be stuck together like glue once more and – yeah, he can see the parallels, OK? But he's not hoping, and he's not asking questions. He's just being there for her.

Madi is in the back of the rover, and Clarke sits in the passenger seat while he drives. He keeps his eyes fixed carefully ahead of him, scared somehow that it will be difficult not to hope if he turns and sees her smiling at him with that particular soft smile. He supposes they ought to talk. He should open with some kind of unobjectionable query about what she's looking forward to the most on arriving at the valley, or something like that.

Then Madi lets out a loud whoop of excitement and he veers sharply to the left in shock.

Cursing under his breath, he rights the rover and calls out to her. "Try not to distract the driver, kid. I don't want us to have an accident just as we've found a peaceful way home."

"Sorry." He can practically hear the pout in Madi's voice. "It's just so exciting. We're going home, and we've got Clarke back, and we're all on a trip together."

He cannot help but laugh, and he is glad to hear Clarke joining in. It is good to know that his little girl is still capable of acting like a child, as well as a leader.

He casts around for a suggestion that will play to Madi's enthusiasm without causing him to crash. "Do you want me to put some music on?"

"Yeah." Madi gives another small whoop, before realising that she's probably not supposed to and subsiding into a silence that positively fizzes with joy.

He reaches out for the sound system, but Clarke beats him to it. He admits defeat, and tries not to linger too long in brushing his fingers against hers as he withdraws his hand. Before he has quite had time to gather his thoughts, music is echoing through the rover and Madi is singing along.

Clarke, though, is silent.

"Not in a singing mood?" He asks her. It's technically a question, but he doesn't think it's one that treads too closely to any cause for discomfort.

"It's not that." She reassures him, loud enough for him to hear, quiet enough that Madi does not even notice their conversation while she sings her heart out. "I'm just remembering the rover ride we took to the island before Praimfaiya."

This time, when his fingers brush hers it is no accident. It's not easy, driving one-handed, but he's willing to persevere with it for a few moments while he shows her that he's still here, still sticking around, still not dead.

"I get that." He murmurs.

"I think it's your turn this time." She states, as if he ought to know what she means. They've had a good week, but he can't read her mind. Not quite, not yet.

"My turn?"

"To tell me about what it was like for you growing up on the Ark." She explains, as he recalls the conversation they shared all those years ago. "To tell me all the things you've never told anyone about your mum, and all the things about Octavia that you wish you'd said before."

He sucks in a careful breath, and considers her offer. This sounds like intimacy on a whole new level, sharing his heart on a scale that goes far beyond frantic declarations of love and waking up to her lips pressed against his neck.

But this is Clarke, so he tells her.

…...

He's got quite a lot of grief stored up from his childhood, so it should come as no surprise that the subject lasts them the length of the journey to the valley. He is initially self-conscious about going on like this, but Clarke doesn't seem to mind. On the contrary, she goes out of her way to encourage him to keep speaking, and takes his hand when the going gets tough, and all in all as gold turns to green he finds that his burdens feel lighter, somehow, than he has ever known them.

Madi is still singing, the music still protecting their privacy, as they approach the village and he takes his chance.

"Thanks for that." He says, rather inadequately. "I want to do that for you, one day, if you'll let me. I'd like to listen to you tell me all about solitary, and about those six years in space."

He risks a glance at her, sees that she is nodding and swallowing carefully. "I'd like that. I really would. I'm not ready yet but – one day."

That will have to be good enough for now, he suspects. This is Clarke, after all, and he hardly expected her to become the most open book on Earth just because she happens to love him.

He draws the rover to a halt, and sees that Diyoza is already standing by and waiting for them. She greets all three of them cordially enough when they hop out of the rover, and asks Bellamy to confirm which house is his and Madi's.

He is half way to the door when he realises Clarke has not followed.

"Clarke?" He turns, concerned at her sudden absence.

"You go on." She encourages him, with a smile that he can tell is forced. "I want to go find Raven."

And with that, he fears, the fairy tale ends.

…...

He tries to look for the good things, in the hours that follow. It is good that Diyoza is so determined that he and Madi should stay in their own home, and that she seems open to discussion about how, exactly, the land is to be split. It looks like, this time, peace might really last.

It is good that his sister is physically well. He is surprised to hear from Diyoza that Octavia wants to speak to him, but all the same he follows her directions and finds himself outside a small cottage. There are guards on the door, but that is the only sign that there is anything unusual about this peaceful retirement.

He opens the door rather cautiously, wondering if he should ask the guards to come inside with him. When he last saw his sister, she wasn't averse to threatening him with physical violence.

"You didn't let them kill me." She says, as soon as he enters, without so much as a greeting by way of introduction.

He stares, silent and uncertain.

"Diyoza told me." She continues. "She told me all about it, how you said the treaty had to promise I'd be unharmed and I'd live a quiet retirement under house arrest." She sucks in a shaky breath. "I was about to execute the woman you love and march your daughter into war, and you were _still_ set on protecting me."

"You're my sister." He chokes out, with a helpless shrug. "Or – you used to be."

There is a heavy pause, and he wonders about leaving. She is alive, and well, and this looks like it might be the beginnings of remorse, if he squints. He'll take that, for day one of the rest of their lives.

He is at the door when he hears her parting words.

"I'd like to be your sister again, one day."

So, yeah, there are good things here. Peace is good, and the treaty with Diyoza is good, and the beginning of reconciliation with Octavia is good.

But Clarke is still with Raven, by the time he gets back to the house and starts to help Madi unpack, so that's not encouraging. He doesn't ask himself what's going on between them right now, though. He is practising not asking questions, after all. He simply walks to the rover and grabs an armful of assorted luggage.

"That's mine." Madi contributes, dashing forward to grab a small pack which appears to contain stationery. "And that - that's Clarke's. Where are we putting Clarke's stuff?"

He nearly drops it in despair. He doesn't know where they're putting Clarke's stuff, because he has no idea where Clarke is going to be for the foreseeable future. He doesn't know whether she will be sharing their life and home, or whether her other family matters to her more.

"Let's leave it in the rover." He decides, in the end. "She'll know where she wants everything."

He doesn't tell Madi that the answer to that question might be in a different house altogether. He cannot quite bear to shatter her good mood, and he isn't ready for the questions she might ask in return.

He makes short work of unloading the rover of all but Clarke's belongings. He then finds himself pottering uselessly around the house, spending far longer than strictly necessary on rearranging almost everything he owns. He just needs to keep his hands busy, or his mind will fall apart.

He remembers the last time he found himself thinking that.

He shakes his head, and ignores the concerned-yet-exasperated glare Madi sends in his direction. He needs to get a grip, otherwise he'll -

Clarke walks through the door. She's right here, walking through the door of his home as if it's _her_ home too, smiling a half smile and offering Madi a small wave. She's _here_ , standing in front of him and reaching up for a hug, and he's hugging her back and thanking the heavens that she's chosen to be _here_ , of all places.

Then he realises something, as his arms fold easily around her. She's not carrying any luggage. She's not moving her belongings in, as if she's not here to stay.

He doesn't ask about it. He's not supposed to be asking anything, he remembers, so he doesn't ask why her smile looks slightly anxious, and he doesn't ask whether there's a reason she's here. And he certainly doesn't ask why she's not moving in.

…...

He doesn't ask why she's still there hours later.

She has spent the afternoon and evening sketching with Madi, while he went to a meeting with Diyoza about the logistics of bringing Wonkru home. Madi has gone, now – to go to bed early, Clarke explains, with a suggestion that the girl has missed the comfort and privacy of her own room.

He nods, distracted, and wonders where to begin.

The thing is, there is a question he needs to ask her. It's not a question that's actually got anything much to do with the state of things between them, but it's a question all the same.

He takes seat on the sofa by her side, and asks away.

"Would you watch Madi for me tomorrow? I've got to take the rover and do a run to pick some things up from Polis."

She is silent for a long moment, and that confuses him. He doesn't think it was such a difficult question. She loves Madi, and has just spent the whole afternoon with her – the request that she might watch her for a day is surely not so unreasonable.

At last, she speaks.

"I'd rather we both came along, too. If – if that's OK, of course. I just – I want to stick by you. After all this time, I'm still worried that if I let you go anywhere without me, I might not see you again."

He orders himself not to hope, but following orders has never been his best thing.

"Why would that matter?" He asks her carefully, his resolution to ask no questions cast aside.

She swallows audibly. "Because I love you."

Somehow, it seems, that is always the answer between them.

"What about Raven?"

Somehow, it seems, that is always the question between them.

"We broke up." She murmurs, eyes fixed on the rug.

He knows he is supposed to leave it at that. He should take his happiness with both hands, and run with it, and never stop running. But he's Bellamy Blake, and he's been bottling up questions all day, so they all come spilling out of him, now.

"Who ended it?"

"Does it matter?" She fires back at him, quiet but biting.

"Yes." He tells her, six years of grief getting the better of him. He seems to remember he had a resolution to keep calm and be there for her, but as usual, that is falling by the wayside in the face of his emotion. "I'm fed up of being your second choice. I spent years waiting for you, and I've watched you love three other people. I think I deserve to know that you've chosen me for once."

"I have _already_ chosen you a hundred times." She tells him, fire in her voice. "From not kissing Lexa back when you were in Mount Weather, right up to not pulling that trigger. I know it's not easy for you to see it because – because I keep _leaving you_." She chokes a little on those last two words. "But you know I'll always come back to you, right? It's always you. You were always the only person I couldn't sacrifice. But now I think maybe that's Madi, too."

He pauses, trying to make sense of that. Trying to get his heart to accept what, he now realises, his head could have worked out years ago if ever he'd given it a chance.

Clarke, however, seems to take his silence for ongoing frustration and presses on. "I ended it. I think – I'd known I would for a long time now. Well, for a large part of the last long week." She gives a strained laugh. "But I knew for sure when we had that conversation last night. My relationship with Raven was built on grief and desperation, on both sides. But you and me – we're _happier_ together. We fit together for the _right_ reasons."

He nods, still processing. Still wondering when it will hit him that this is it – this is that happy ending.

"How's Raven?"

Clarke gives a gentle smile. "She's fine, really. She's so happy that you're alive and that we're good together that it beats anything else. I'm just – I'm pleased we ended it properly. I didn't want – after Finn -"

He pulls her in for a hug. He can see she needs one. "You're OK." He whispers into the top of her hair. "You did the right thing."

"Took you long enough to say that." She mutters, still curled into his chest.

"What do you mean?"

"Took you long enough to agree that choosing you was _the right thing_."

He laughs, and drops a kiss on the crown of her head. "Sorry. I just – I can't believe it's true. I've spent so long hoping for this and always been disappointed – it's going to take some getting used to."

She nods, rubbing her cheek against his neck in the process, and the heat of it courses right through him. He's not quite sure where they go, now. He's not quite sure how to finally start an actual relationship with a woman he's been stuck on for most of his adult life.

He tells her that, and she looks up at him with a sweet smile. "I don't think it'll be that difficult, Bellamy. We're already partners in so many ways. There's just – you know -" She pauses, shakes her head, and tries again. "That was a great kiss, back in the lab."

"It was." He agrees. "Kept me going for six years. But I think we can do better."

As usual, she does not appear inclined to back down from a challenge. Before he has had a chance to form so much as half a conscious thought, her lips are on his and her fingers are tangling in his hair and she's sighing his name into his mouth.

He's got to admit, it's better this time. Her hair is loose, for one thing, so he can twist curls of it about his hands as he holds her tight against him. She is more confident than she was back then, less surprised to be kissing him at all as she takes the initiative and nibbles a little at his lower lip. And most of all, there is no time limit, now, no death-wave bearing down on them to cut their romance short.

He has the rest of his life to kiss Clarke Griffin, and he likes the sound of that.

As he runs a hand down her side and takes hold of her hip, it occurs to him that he's not altogether sure where the boundaries are, here. They've been in love for years but in a relationship for minutes, and that leaves him with quite a lot of questions. He wouldn't want to do the wrong thing and lose her all over again.

He's getting breathless with want, now, so he decides it's probably the moment to pull away before he takes this somewhere she's not ready to go. He rests his forehead against hers, and tries to resist the temptation to lean in for just one more peck on the lips.

He fails, and dusts a couple more light kisses over her cheeks for good measure.

"Madi must be asleep by now." Clarke whispers, brow arched.

"What are you saying?" He asks, careful to keep the excitement out of his tone.

"I mean, we could go to your room to continue with this." He tries to ignore the twitch in his pants at that suggestion. He's not entirely successful, and settles for another long kiss to make up the difference.

"I don't want to rush you." He whispers against her lips. "I want to wait until you're ready."

"Bellamy. I've waited for you six years in space and another six days on the ground. I'm not interested in waiting any longer."

He takes her hand, and leads her to bed.

…...

Bellamy wakes up the following day to Clarke's hair tickling his nose, and her arm wrapped around his waist. It's not the first time he's woken up in such a situation, this week, but it feels different, somehow, this time.

"I love you." He whispers, as the early morning light begins to streak the room with gold.

"I love you, too." She murmurs, for perhaps the twentieth time in the last ten hours. It is hardly surprising, he decides, that they are so keen to make up for lost time, now.

They kiss for a while, leisurely and affectionate, and Bellamy swears that neither of them is crying at being able to do this after so long apart. There must just be a lot of dust in the room, this morning.

He tells her that, and she laughs. She is laughing more with each day that passes, and he hopes it will stay that way.

They get back on with kissing, then, still affectionate but less leisurely with every passing moment until they are doing quite a lot _more_ than kissing, to tell the truth.

They lie, content and together, for a long time afterwards, whispering about nothing in particular, until Bellamy points out that the sun is well and truly up and they ought to get on with driving to Polis.

"We should." Clarke agrees. "One problem – all my clean clothes are in the rover."

Bellamy laughs. "You couldn't have moved them in last night?"

"I wasn't sure if I'd be moving in." She defends herself nervously. "I mean, I knew I wanted to but..."

"I hope you're moving in." He says, striving for a lighthearted tone. "It'll make it easier to have a healthy sex life."

She grins at him a little. "Then I'm moving in. But you're going to have to go grab me some clothes from out of the rover."

He does as she asks, of course. Not because he's following orders or anything, but because he reckons this is the closest they're ever going to get to the old Earth tradition of a _honeymoon_ and he wants to make her happy. He doesn't just bring her a change of clothes, in fact – he brings all the luggage left in the rover, and staggers back to their room with it, and deposits it before her in a heap. And then she gets dressed, and leads him by the hand to the kitchen.

Madi is already there, setting out breakfast for three, a carefully neutral expression on her face as she takes in their joined hands.

"I thought you might be joining us for breakfast, Clarke." She says mildly.

Clarke bites her lip, and looks to him for help, but he shakes his head gently. This is one beautiful challenge she can and will face alone. He takes a seat, and helps himself to a glass of water.

"I wonder if it might be OK if I'm here for more than just breakfast." Clarke says, audibly nervous. "Would that be alright, Madi? If I – would you be OK with me moving in here with you guys?"

"I guess that would be OK." Madi says, with a cheeky grin. "If it's alright with Bellamy, of course. I wouldn't want you to disturb his sleep."

He chokes on his water at that, and Clarke slaps him on the back while Madi laughs and he splutters helplessly.

"It's definitely alright with me." He manages to say, when he can breathe again.

"I thought you might say that." Madi teases. "Welcome to the family, Clarke."

…...

The sun is shining when they drive to Polis. There's no water here, any more, just a dried up seabed where the light used to glint off the ocean, but Clarke's hair still looks beautiful.

He tells her so, and she presses a kiss to his half-healed knuckles in response.

Madi sits in the back of the rover, full of life and love and laughter. Every time he opens his mouth to speak she twists his words and makes one of a litany of deeply inappropriate jokes about him and Clarke.

He doesn't mind, though. He doesn't mind in the slightest.

He doesn't mind anything at all, really, as long as the woman he loves is by his side and his incredible commander of a daughter has got his back. And he knows that's how it is, because they are family, now.

The three of them are going to stick together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I have a couple of other projects that I plan to start posting soon: "Together" will be an AU of the three months between S2 and S3 in which Clarke doesn't leave, and "From the Ashes" will be a speculative attempt at S7. You might also want to come chat about fanfic on twitter with me PenguinofP.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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